


Owen Shaw, my downfall

by Nikkitosa



Category: Fast & Furious 6 (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-03-26 18:45:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3860629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkitosa/pseuds/Nikkitosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be a series of independed drabbles about Owen Shaw and you; each one-shot will have its own summary, rating, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shaving

Summary: You just can't help loving the way he shaves - it's a little guilty pleasure of yours. Second comes teasing him. Oh, how lucky you are to be able to do both at the same time...  
Rating: M, due to smut

The sun has begun its course south by the time you finally head towards the cosy apartment you share with Owen. The faintest breeze carries around the scent of lilac and summer as you walk down the still crowded streets of New York. The stay here was supposed to be a short one; finding a rare copy of a book you have been yearning to have for ages. Yet the more time passes by, the more you enjoy the warmth of the sun and the absence of that mist that seems to have been suffocating dearest London for a few months now.  
The hotel you are staying at is luxurious, as expected – Shaw won’t have anything but the best. And while on most occasions you are firmly against the unneeded spending of money, this time you let it pass by you. ‘What a hypocrite I have become.’ mentally chuckling you unlock the door and enter the maisonette, bathed in the rays of the setting sun. The warmth engulfs you, mixed with the lingering scent of the fresh flowers you bought this morning from the picturesque flower shop behind the corner. As the silence prolongs for a minute or two and no one comes to greet you, it becomes obvious Owen hasn’t returned yet, so after throwing your clothes in the laundry, you opt for a nice shower and some you-time.  
‘It’s so nice to pamper myself every once in a while… I should do it more often.’ you blissfully think, sprawled on the huge soft bed, with a cup of steaming tea on the nightstand next to you and a book flopped a hand’s reach away. Your hair is still slightly damp, and you can’t help but notice the way it catches the last rays of the sun, acquiring some fiery hues. With your nails nicely done, your body hydrated and exfoliated, a sigh of pure pleasure skips past your parted lips as you simply lie there and enjoy the tranquillity.  
An hour or so later the front door unlocks and heavy male steps echo, accompanied by a rather tired sigh. Peaking above your eyeglasses and lowering the book slightly, you eye the newly arrived Owen. Clad in his usual attire – a simple grey T-shirt and jeans, with a leather jacket to top it all and a pair of sunglasses pushed on top of his head, you can’t help but admire not only his good-looks, but also his confident stride and the air of power and authority that seems to be constantly surrounding him.  
“Hey.” your greeting is met with a curt nod and a lopsided smirk, before he tosses the jacket to one side and the glasses to the other and disappears in the bathroom.  
For a second you stay there, with a raised eyebrow at his rather rude attitude and a small frown appears on your previously completely relaxed face. It’s obvious he’s rather irritated and tired, but you have made a pretty clear in the very beginning of your relationship – what happens at work, stays there; no bad vibes enter the nest. And you have been living up to that promise, and so has he. ‘Not today obviously.’ with a slight frown you notice the door opening and a half-naked Owen returning to the bedroom, his jeans unbuttoned and hanging loose around his hips. The scold melts away into an amused smile as you tilt your head to the side, your keen eyes not missing a single movement of his. Offhandedly the male climbs on the bed next to you and plants a soft kiss on your cheek, a faintly murmured ‘Hey’ ghosting over your skin before his lips capture yours in a soft, yet distinguishably dominant kiss, making you put the book on your lap and cup his cheeks, a soft moan getting stuck in your throat. The gentle skin of your hands gets tickled by his few days old beard, and a small laugh makes you break the kiss. With a gleeful smile you run your hands along his stubble, a feminine giggle erupting from you. The fact that Owen frowns slightly, obviously not finding it even half as amusing, manages to boost your joy and mischievous nature further. It’s common knowledge that the male hates not being clean-shaved, his stubble making him nervously scratch his cheeks and chin, irritating himself further. Ever since you came in possession of this knowledge, you can’t help but tease him whenever an opportunity comes across – like today. His stubble is at least three days old, and you can bet your left ovary that his hands itch for his razor. ‘Probably that’s why he’s so fretful.’ A soft smile graces your features and you plant a tender kiss on his lips before letting him go, knowing perfectly well that before he shaves any further teasing would not receive the desired effect. When he once again strides towards the bathroom, you get to marvel at his broad back and his long legs for a few seconds until he hides behind the door. By the time you snap out of your daydreaming of Owen’s naked body, the sound of running water reaches your ears. Picking back up your discarded reading mater, after a quick calculation you come to the conclusion that it will be at least two chapters until Owen finishes with his shower and begins shaving.  
Despite not really understanding his need to shave all the time, the process itself is a marvellous thing to watch. Not only do you get to see him fully and utterly engulfed and concentrated in what he’s doing, but also admire the way his muscles flex. A sight worth admiration, you conclude before a mischievous smirk plays in the corners of your lips, a plan forming in the back of your mind. ‘Why not test his concentration?’ licking your lips with anticipation you return to the book, savouring the few last glimpses of daylight as you do so.  
Precisely two chapters of your book later the water stops and the ruffling of towels reaches your awaiting ears. With a Cheshire grin you crawl off of the bed, your book forgotten, and head for the bathroom. With a soft knock you push the white door open and peak inside. The steam’s still thick and the air smells of Owen’s shampoo, making your body react in a pleasant way. And the sight of his naked and wet body, all clean and warmed up, with only a towel wrapped loosely around his torso awakes that hunger deep in you only he can sate. ‘First we’ll play.’ you mentally remind yourself and chase away the predator look in your eyes before flashing a bright smile his way and entering the room. Taking a seat on the toilet’s lid you have the perfect angle to watch him shave – the mirror allows you to follow the tensed from the concentration lines of his face, while enjoying the view his back offers at the same time.  
“Mind if I watch?” your seemingly mild voice makes the dark-haired man raise an eyebrow your way, already knowing there’s something boiling in your pretty little head; yet knowing your plans concerning him are always pleasant, he nods and resumes fetching out his stuff.  
The shaving cream, the funny brush that resembles the kabuki one you have in your makeup bag, and then, the jewel in the crown – the old-fashioned straight razor get lined on the sink with precision typical for a military man. It never ceases the amaze you the way this tool, as if stolen from a medieval man’s bathroom, seems to fit perfectly in Shaw’s hand – he never cuts or nips his skin, let alone miss a patch. And the continuously sharp weapon, with its ever-present plushness only adds a badass kick to the man in front of you. ‘As if he doesn’t have enough of that already.’ chuckling lowly, you watch with interest as he successively and with great care first checks whether the blade is dull, despite knowing perfectly well it would never be, then applies the shaving cream on his face, and after throwing a small towel over his right shoulder, begins to shave. The very sound the action makes, the skin getting rid of the stubble, resembles a scratch and sends chills down your spine, involuntarily making you tremble with anticipation. Owen’s hand movers the blade with an impressive precision, his concentration unbreakable as his sharp eyes closely follow each and every stroke; and so do yours. Once his neck is shaved you inch closer towards the end of the seat, ready to move once you make sure there’s no way he manages to cut at an artery due to your attack. As soon as he cleans the razor in the towel and proceeds with shaving his left cheek, you stand up, noting mentally the way his eyes avert for a second to look at you, before returning to the task at hand. Probably he doesn’t get to see the small hungry flames in your eyes or the naughty smirk that creeps on your face. Biting at your bottom lip, not being able to suppress the glee you feel, you finally come to stand next to him, your hands resting on his back. A small grunt is the only indication he gives of having noticed your presence as his eyes stay glued to his reflexion, careful not to cut the skin.  
Being the tease you are, your hands run up and down his back, marvelling at the way the muscles move under your fingers, before returning to his shoulders. One stays there while the other returns down and moves around his waist, coming to rest for a brief second on his hard abs before moving up his chest. Meanwhile Owen doesn’t even show a sign he has registered your actions; his imprudence makes you pout before grabbing the towel on his shoulder and cleaning his neck and right cheek with gentle strokes. You know the skin is rather gentle to the touch now, so any harsher tug will cause him pain, and that’s not the reaction you opt for. Only when you plant a small kiss on the back of his neck do his two emerald pools once again look at you, his hand pausing in its movement. His question towards your intentions or motifs mostly, is in the form of a raised eyebrow.  
“Don’t mind me. Keep on shaving.” your purr seductively against the skin and once again kiss his neck.  
With a satisfaction you notice the way his hand no longer makes such confident and fast strokes; your own hands are now on his chest, traveling up and down his toned front, while your mouth plants kisses on the newly shaved skin, admiring its softness. Despite having to tip-toe in order not to be a burden for Owen and pull him down, you enjoy playing around all the meanwhile your eyes throw glances at his reflexion. Your teasing goes as far as to actually let your teeth graze over the skin, making Owen’s body shiver and the razor almost breaks the skin. With a single clean movement the last bit of skin is shaved and he moves his body in a manner you know well – anxious for his personal space to be restored; the rather displeased look in his eyes makes you stumble back, your hands falling lifelessly to your sides. ‘Have I angered him?’ you are just playing, you always do, a rather childish trait that sometimes drives the always serious and stern man to his limits, but the fact that his whole body grows rigid and his muscles tighten is definitely not a good sign. With a few good splashes he washes his face from the leftover shaving cream and gently pats it with a new towel, never even once sparing you a glance. His behaviour makes your heart heaven in a suffocating manner, dreadful shivers running down your spine. With a harsh movement the towel is discarded and only then does the male turn towards you, his face unreadable.  
“Owen, I-” you don’t manage to even finish as in a blink of an eye his lips clash with yours, his body quickly pinning you against the nearest wall.  
With your hands on his chest you can’t help but moan, the hunger in you reawakened after the pleasant turn of events. Suddenly one of his hands sneaks between your bodies, grabs your left one and tugs it along his lower body; over his abs and finally over the bulge under the towel. The second your hand ends up over his already hard member, Owen growls and presses himself even firmer against you.  
“Look what you have done to me.” he grumbles against your ear.  
The temptress in you surfaces in a blink of an eye, and with newly found courage and boldness you cup him through the material; not firmly but with enough pressure to make him hiss. As retaliation his lips immediately launch at your neck. The second he finds your sweet spot, he not only kisses it but bites at the skin, making you moan and move against him; the hand that’s still over his manhood squeezes a little bit harder and rubs. The response is a low throaty moan sealed against the gentle skin of your neck and a new hickey, as he sucks at that pulsating spot, bites and eventually kisses it, as if apologising for the roughness.  
It seems the little game you begun has gotten down to who will break first – and you’ll be damned if you are to succumb before him. ‘He’ll snap, I’ll make sure of it.’ the mischievous smile appears once again before your occupied hand keeps moving, while the free one ends up in Owen’s short black hair, running through it and gently massaging his scalp, knowing perfectly well how much he enjoys the wonder your fingers can do with each and every muscle you get your hands on. The groan that vibrates in his chest makes you bite your lip and tilt your head to the side, giving him more access. And while his mouth keeps on worshiping your neck, his hands don’t stay idly by. Instead one makes sure your loose shorts hit the floor while the other sneaks under your tank top and cups your breast, giving it a light squeeze. A meow-ish moan slips past your parted lips as soon as Owen’s hand runs over your already damp panties, his satisfactory smirk dancing over your skin as he strokes you through the cotton in a slow and teasing motion. Just so you can win this little duel, you make sure next to your shorts falls the white towel. Finally completely bare, Shaw’s hard member ends up in the warm palm of your hand – from there you know he’s at your mercy as with small pumps you begin a sensual dance, your soft moans in his ear and the other hand playing with his hair sure to soon drive him beyond his collected self.  
But the man in front of you is a fighter till his last remaining ounce of breath and strength; since you decided to play dirty, so can he. You two know the other’s body with such precision that it’s basically impossible not to think of a way to tease one another. The fingers that seconds ago were gently stroking your womanhood through the panties now push said garment to the side and after a quick check enter you. A small whimper bounces off the walls at the feeling of him pumping slowly in and out of you. Yet Owen isn’t staying unaffected by your little treatment and his pants and low moans only make you grow hotter and hotter; the bastard knows what effect his moans have on you – that they leave you wet, horny and needy to the point where you’ll let him do whatever he desires with you.  
It’s a vicious dance you indulge into against the bathroom wall, as neither breaks, nor backs down. Your strokes over his hard member are faster and the teasing of the head has him sucking in breath sharply each and every time; yet simultaneously his fingers flex in you, his thumb running small circles over that bundle of nerves, so sensitive to the touch that soon your knees begin to buckle. You no longer find the need to muffle your moans, as that proves to be impossible with the constant moving and rotating of his fingers inside you. Out of breath, but definitely not ready to back down, another idea comes in mind – something you have never done to Owen; something you are sure he’ll enjoy greatly, as any normal man would. With a second worth of thinking it through, you push the male away, leaving him amazed and shocked at the action before spinning him, his back now against the cold tiles, and kissing him with passion you never knew you possessed. He eagerly responds, but his wonder and nescience of what you are planning to do leave him rather tense. With a quick peck and a small mischievous smile flashed his way, you begin your journey down his body after making sure his hands are positioned steadily at his sides. It’s a temptation to just kiss your way around his chest, but your plan includes going lower. ‘A hit below the waist it shall be.’  
You take him in your mouth out of the blue, making Owen hiss and squeeze his eyes shut. You know the male has always wished for your mouth to be around his shaft, something you said I’d never do in the very beginning of your relationship. Back then he agreed and never pushed you further, so now when at your own will your lips move around his hard member, Owen is too taken aback and filled with lust to try and play with his masks – unadulterated pleasure is written all over his face as you cautiously lick his length, not really sure what to do, as you have never ever thought of giving someone a blowjob. Sensing his guidance is needed, Shaw’s hand ends up in your hair, navigating you closer to his hot body.  
“Tell me what to do.” you whisper against his lower stomach before planting small kisses lower and lower.  
The fact that your small actions leave him panting and arching his back sends a fit of proudness mixed with lust straight though you. The wetness between your legs grows as a soft groan reaches your ears.  
“Take it in. Slowly.” the words are gritted through clenched teeth as his green eyes, looking down at you, are clouded by lust.  
Obviously possessed by unknown power, you do what he says without feeling shame of the fact that you’re kneeling in his feet. Instead your earlier playfulness resurfaces and you gently take the tip of his member into you hot mouth. Giving it a small lick you carefully watch what reaction it will elicit – Owen’s breath hitches and his jaw tightens even more, the hand in your hair pushing you forward. Yet liking this new game where he tells you what to do, you wait for the next set of words with anticipation.  
“Suck.” his hoarse voice makes your insides curl and you oblige with pleasure, gently sucking in.  
With a hiss Owen throws his head back, his whole body growing tense. Fancying this reaction you repeat the small cycle; taking him in deeper, then pulling back, licking, taking in, sucking.  
“Fuck! Yes. Like that! Yes!” the small words of encouragement mumbled as a chant result in you going even wilder.  
Your hands for a first time travel over his toned legs, admiring his muscles for a second before stopping at his strong tights. With your mouth still repeating the cycle, with the occasional unexpected move of course, your nails gently dig into his legs. Owen’s sweet moans, unsuccessfully muffled, make you moan as well, knowing that the vibration will affect him just as much as the strokes of your tongue. True to that thought, Owen’s other hand grips the close-by towel rail with such force the metal bars give a low creak.  
“Take it all in.” he rasps out and you immediately do.  
The feeling of having his hard member so deep into your mouth is strange, but definitely not unpleasant. Giving it a good suck, you literally feel his whole body growing tense as a low howl fills the silence of the room.  
Pulling away, you act fast and stand up before capturing his lips with yours, allowing him to taste himself, something he has done for you more than once. When you part, both out of air, you finally manage to voice your wish.  
“Fuck me. Hard. Here. Now.” panting it against his ear more like an order than a plea, you smirk when he hoist you up without a problem and spins you around, pushing your back hard against the wall.  
Without a warning he enters you, his member stretching your muscles at once, making you arch your back as a loud moan resonates in the room. Up to the hilt, Owen takes a second to collects his suddenly disappeared breath, allowing you to recover from the initial shock of having him in, before immediately attacking his neck. The moment you gently nip at the skin, the male rotates his hips, making you moan once again as the action itself teases all sensitive places. His thrusts are short and rough, as he mostly uses the fact that you’re highly sensitive and slick enough for him to do whatever he pleases. And fucking you roughly is exactly what he intends to do. The second he sets his pace you know you have lost the small challenge you put on the table; the fact that your walls are already clenching around him is indicative enough of how close you are.  
“Yes! Oh, God, yes! Owen!” moaning his name, with your head thrown back, you barely manage to register the change that occurs; your brain is that clouded by lust.  
One second you are caged between his strong hands and in the next your breasts are pressed against the wall and your bum against his hard member as he glides it teasingly along your slit. Breathing in sharply you press against him, loving the contrast between his hardness and your softness.  
“Owen, please!” you moan and look over your shoulder, knowing perfectly well what effect this will have over him.  
With your hair messy and falling freely down your shoulders and back, your body covered in thin layer of sweat, panting and dripping wet, with a look fitting more of a harlot that you, the plea is all the man needs to snap – his cool-aired posture cracks and with a single push enters you slowly, but fully. Your moan is a mixture of a gasp and groan as the new angle rubs you in all the right places. With your back arched, front firmly pressed against the wall and rear glued to him, his hands having a firm grip over your hips, you try to mentally prepare for probably the best sex you have had in a week. What amazes you is the fact that his movements are slow, once again paying more attention to rotation that harshness. With one of his hands coming to rest next to your head, Owen’s lips start tracing your shoulder and neck, never even once breaking his pace. ‘He’s torturing me!’ with vexation you conclude, all the meanwhile not being able to stop your low grunts every time his other hand pulls you a little but harsher against him. Once finally sated with marking your shoulder, as you can swear there are at least four hickeys there, his lips capture yours in a searing kiss, successfully muffling your moan as the pace changes to a fast and harsh one. His thrusts are uneven, deep and most of all – pleasurably stretching as you feel him deeper with each and every thrust. The pleasure builds up and soon you can’t do anything but moan and fight for a gulp of air.  
By the time you feel your release coming your eyes are squeezed and your voice is growing hoarse; your whole body has become so sensitive that Owen’s roaming hands feel like flames, leaving a trail of ash in their wake.  
Unexpectedly, again, he pulls away and this time a curse slips past your swollen lips, as anger and lust quickly mix. Harshly spinning you around, hoisting you up and entering you, Owen successfully manages to prevent the vile words that you’d have said to him with a single thrust. With your nails digging into his back, your legs having a fierce grip around his middle and your walls – around his shaft, Shaw somehow finds the strength and willpower to coherent a sentence, something which you cannot praise yourself with.  
“Tell me what to do.” throwing your own words back at you, and slowing down his thrusts, in a fit of rage and despair you whine and drag your nails harshly down his back, glaring at him with passion and ferocity.  
“Fuck me. Hard. Now! Or, God help me, I’ll …. go and find someone who’ll do the job better.” at first you wanted to threaten you’d kill him, but the last-minute change came out a lot better.  
As if having bruised his ego, which you most probably did, he immediately sets to fulfil your wish with such devotion and passion, harshness mixed with desire and pleasure that not even a minute later you are falling apart in his arms, your orgasm sweeping you off of your feet and throwing you into a blissful oblivion.  
Some time later you manage to come round, panting and already a bit sore, but satisfied beyond any limit, only to find Owen’s face buried in the crook of your neck, panting as well and murmuring something. As a habit your hands end up in his hair, gently massaging his scalp, all the meanwhile enjoying this small moment of tranquillity and fulfilment you share.  
“Have I mentioned how much I love watching you shave?” you murmur and gently kiss his temple before nipping at his ear.  
As a response a low groggy laughter tickles your skin, making it prickle.


	2. Jealousy suits you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't consider yourself the jealous type - just the slightly territorial one, where if someone touches your guy they'll face the receiving end of your wrench or fist. But that's not being jealous, right? It's more like protecting what's yours...

RATING: T, due to language

You are a rather care-free spirit when it comes to life in general – nothing bothers you or can drive you out of your comfort zone, and for a cataclysmic explosion of feelings to appear someone has to try and destroy your car. At least that’s what everyone in the crew thinks – if they want a wrench planted firmly up their ass, they just have to mess with your precious, nicely polished bloody-red jewel. And not even Owen, for whom you have been working for some time now, dares scratch the paint. You have been having an affair with the said black-haired devil for a while now, enjoying the way he would act when no one is around – he would joke, provoke and fuck you whenever and wherever he finds fit. You suspect that everyone knows that you two have a thing, yet don’t voice it, rationally deciding not to add fuel to two flames that may turn out to be tubes of nitro and send them flying down to hell, for all they know. And that suits you perfectly – doing your job, all professional and unfazed by what doesn’t directly affect you, and when night comes – having Shaw all for yourself, his mischievous hands doing miracles to your body. Life is perfect and you love it. Until a blonde wannabe shows up and just has to ruin it for you.

Vegh is a personification of Satan, just castrated and with an awful sense of humour. The second her skinny ass set foot into the warehouse, you knew she’d be trouble from start to finish. Her long wheatear-coloured hair and piercing, cold blue eyes always had that scold mixed with mock in them, successfully making you want to press her head against the concrete walls… repeatedly and with a certain amount of strength. Unfortunately Owen was crystal clear from her first day – she was to be the new driver and one of his rules said that if you have a problem, you take it outside. So wiping the floor with her ass would only result in him getting furious and eventually taking some pretty nasty choices concerning your existence. So, for a whole month now, you have been keeping your distance, with only a few mild clashes after which you got scolded by Shaw and later, when alone, fucked as punishment, which actually you enjoyed enough to make you want to keep getting in trouble, wasn’t it for the pointed looks and harsh words he’d throw your way when everyone was still around.   
And when one day pretty little Vegh decided to rub herself in Owen’s face and try to catch his attention, you knew hell would break loose, and you’d be damned if you didn’t show the snake just how hard you can kick her bony ass. Yet with you procrastinating until a decent reason and proof can be within your grasp, the things only got worse – he wouldn’t push her away, and she wouldn’t leave his side, making you want to throw a chair at her face. Either way, it was impossible for you to leave things be the way they were – since he enjoyed her company better than yours, he would have to deal with his hard-ons on his own. Pointedly pushing him away and doing anything in your power not to stay alone in a room with the dominant male, your previously nice life was now turning into a personal hell – no peace at work, no Shaw, and no more joking around, as the bitch doesn’t want to be interrupted while working.   
The visible dark demeanour around you sends a fair warning each and every morning to your fellow crewmembers, who know better than to try and ask you about it; they are aware it’s Vegh’s actions that set you off to the point where you are highly irrational whole day long. So that way the gamble begun – the idiots started betting when you’d snap and teach the little princess a lesson she’d never forget. Having the foolishness to share this with you, at first you were pretty pissed, but eventually laughed it off and told them that if Shaw liked her, then you have highly overestimated his taste of women and she can have him. And everything returned to its seemingly calm state; that’s until one day Vegh did what the men called the condemnation. She contemned herself to a slow and painful death.  
Shaw was locked away in his office the whole day, and as much as it pained you to leave him like that, as he was obviously bothered by recent unfortunate events, only over your dead body would you crawl back to him like a dog. If he wants you, he’d have to seek you out and not the other way around.   
It’s almost time to go home and you are bent over the engine of your baby when the approaching of light footsteps makes you peek over your shoulders, only to notice the nasty nag entering your private space with the clear and quite foolish intention to talk. You’d have ignored her wasn’t it for the way she basically didn’t gave you the opportunity and immediately started talking.  
“So, the guys are talking you and Shaw had a nasty argument.”  
If it wasn’t for her straightforward approach of a rather sensitive subject, you wouldn’t have paid her an ounce of attention. Yet the mention of his name makes it obvious that something you won’t like is coming. So pushing away the desire to tell her to fuck off, you just shrug and keep on fixing the engine, ignoring the obvious way everyone in the room has stopped doing their job and is now listening with the upmost interest. Rolling your eyes at this tactless reaction, you mentally promise yourself, whatever you do, not to hit Vegh in the face with the wrench in your hand. If not for another reason, but Owen’s presence close by will only make a scene with a disastrous ending.  
“What does it concern you?” you ask while still with your back to her.  
“I just wanted to know whether he’s free.” without having to look, you know the guys are making the ‘ow, damn’ face and teeter whether to come close and save the blonde’s sorry ass, or stay as far away as possible from the upcoming storm.  
“I didn’t know he was on sale so to be ‘free’.” your voice shows boredom and there’s not even a hint of the fury that rages within.  
“You know what I mean…” she trails off, making you throw a glance over your shoulder, only to see her hungry look, badly masked underneath the coldness of blue discs. “He’s a hot-stuff.”  
“He is.” your curt reply conveys the message well enough so that she shuts up.  
Having the silliness to believe she’ll get out and leave you alone, you turn out to be severely mistaken as she comes even closer and leans on your car. In the background the men simultaneously intake sharply, knowing that if not for what she said a while ago, now you’d definitely have your way with her.  
“Listen, I have work to do, so do you mind finding something productive to occupy your wandering attention with?” the steel edge in your voice makes the other woman frown and move away, putting once again safe distance between you two.  
“Are you jealous?” the sudden question startles you and makes you raise an eyebrow her way.  
There’s some muffled voices in the background, and you guess the guys are betting once again, this time as to where you’d burry her dead body.   
“Pardon?”   
“Are you the jealous type?” she repeats with a voice that implies that for your sake she’d be patient.  
‘For your sake you better take off bitch!’ while mentally hissing, on the outside you keep your cool façade.  
“No, I’m not.” shrugging to show how disinterested you are in the manner, while in truth you want to run the bitch over with your car numerous times, you finally straighten up and face her completely.  
“So you won’t mind if I have a little fun with him?”   
The silence that settles is tense for a second or two before you cock your head to the side and eye the woman who so daringly decided to cross your path and steal your man. Giving her the most composed smile you can currently muster, you eye her once again.  
“No.” there’s a victorious flame in her eyes before you grin darkly, your demeanour changing in the blink of an eye from irritated to murderous, “If you want to be collecting your teeth from the ground, feel free to proceed.”  
She gapes at you, disbelief written all over her face. Now it’s your time to smirk victoriously before turning on your heel and heading towards the driver’s seat. Pulling your keys out and swirling them around your fingers, that sweet smile on your face makes your opponent gulp.   
Without another word, Vegh tosses her hair over one shoulder, turns around and leaves the building hasty, obviously pretty pissed off. The scoff you had been holding back all this time finally echoes in the room before you once again bend under the hood of the car.  
Soon everyone leaves, and before you know it, the warehouse is empty. After making sure there’s no one, you take a deep breath and exhale, in vain trying to compose yourself. Truth to be told, the little whore really managed to get on your nerves in less than ten minutes – the nerve to come to you and ask if you’d hand over Owen! As if he’s a vase or something! Fuming and murmuring under your nose, you throw the engine one last look before finally pulling the hood down with a small thud, only to find no one else but Shaw himself heading your way with an unreadable expression on his gorgeous face. Snorting at the storm that’s about to come, you quickly straighten your shoulders and prepare for whatever he’d throw your way.   
That was until he threw himself. Well, not literally, but one second you were standing there, hands crossed, and the next you are sitting on the hood with your legs parted and one pretty hot-looking badass man between them, eyeing you with darkened gaze. You only manage to raise an eyebrow his way before his lips capture yours into a dominating kiss, making you tremble under his touch.   
As usual he has the worst and best effect on you – making you want to decapitate and fuck him senseless at the same time. The controversy this man creates!

It’s no surprise that some with the fame of always knowing what the others are doing, Owen heard the whole exchange between you and Vegh. That was the reason the men started talking at some point – they noticed him, but he pointedly advised them to keep their mouths shut. It was a nice show, he had to admit – you really showed a rather composed nature, even when threatening to knock out all her teeth were she to ask him out; not that he’d have accepted – you may be a pain in his ass when you’re mad, but the red tint of rage suits you, as well as the green of envy, which Shaw found himself enjoying even more. Maybe he should test your patience more often – the sex when you are pissed off is one of a lifetime.


	3. Motel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the best and worst surprises come from the most unexpected places.

It is on days like this when you want to see the world burn down to the ground, alongside all the back-stabbing friends, cheating boyfriends and cars that give up on you in the middle of nowhere. Yes, a nice Armageddon right now may prove to be perfect for your mood – some hellfire here, some ash and plague scattered there and a few billion rattle snakes in the pants of all the people that let you down.  
Night is quickly catching up with you in the middle of a desolated desert and you are perfectly aware that while now it’s boiling hot, in a few hours you’ll be wishing the sun had never left the spotless welkin. With an irritated scoff you stroll back to your still slightly smoking car and open the hood you slammed down not even five minutes ago. The fact that the steam makes you cough and take a few steps back as your eyes begin to sting, is quite worrying as that means you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Yet being the tough and independent woman that you are, there’s no way in rotting hell you’ll leave things be; not today, not ever. So taking off your leather jacket and throwing it on the driver’s seat, you give the engine another critical look before putting on your working gloves, and bending over the heated machine, ignoring the rivulets of sweat running down your whole body, making it sticky and itchy.  
Unfortunately, as it turns out, today can officially be written down as the worst day of your life. The engine’s broken beyond repair and unless a misguided driver passes by any time soon, you won’t be going anywhere. Clicking your tongue and trying to preserve the last remains of your patience, you pull your mobile out of the back pocked of your jeans and look at it.  
“Motherfucking piece of useless shit!!” the curse echoes in the vast empty space seconds before a loud crashing sound follows, the phone nothing more than a pile of broken parts after the collision with the sandy ground.  
“This can’t be real! It’s a fucking nightmare!!!” you hiss under your breath while pacing back and forth, brainstorming as to what to be your next move.  
After travelling half the state in order to visit your best friend and surprise her for her birthday, in turn everyone was taken aback by something. Her by being caught red-handed in the middle of fucking your boyfriend, no, scratch that, ex-boyfriend; he, who believed you were in the other end of the county, doing some marketing investigation and finally you, who had to witness the man you actually thought about marrying, between the spread legs of your whorish friend. After that milestone, everything went downwards – the fact you threw a vase at Michael and knocked him out cold, the harsh vomit of words exchanged between you and the woman you grew up with, and now this. Your fucking car, the same you got checked precisely before you left, dying in the middle of a fucking desert. And to top it all – your battery miraculously died as well which naturally resulted in a fit of rage and the eventual destruction of said device, leaving you without any connection to the modern world.  
“This just can’t get any better!” the sarcastic exclamation is shortly followed by a thunder and just like that, bam!, rain pours down. In a fucking desert, mind you, where it supposedly never rains!!  
Some pretty nasty curses that would have gotten you an earful, was there someone close by, get muffled down by another thunder as you quickly hop back into your car after closing the hood. With your hands on the steering wheel, gripping it with such ferocity your knuckles turn white, you grit your teeth and just stare at the horizon, pondering what to do. ‘This junk is done with and so is the phone. I can walk as soon as the morning comes, but the chances are I’ll step on a rattle snake and die before reaching civilization.’ Barely suppressing the desire to smash your head against the wheel, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to compose. This is not the first time you have faced an impasse; well, honestly this one in particular wins with its ridiculous sequence of events, but as whole a lot worse has gotten in your way throughout the years, with your rather shady line of work. ‘I’ll figure it out! There’s always a way around!! It must!’ convincing yourself not to let despair take over, you snatch your bag from the seat next to you and rummage through its content, in hopes of spotting something worth a shot. And when a small, chip like device ends up in the palm of your hand, you wonder whether to curse that maniac or bless him for his providence. The little gadget resembles a chip in so many ways that it will be just natural to cast it aside as useless if you didn’t know what you’re dealing with. Spinning it between your fingers, you can’t help the small laugh at how such a tiny thing will save you out of this shitty mess. Fetching a decoder type of thing from the bottom of your bag, you insert the small chip into the slit. Immediately the screen lightens up and after a digital hourglass makes a few spins, a map appears, with your current location displayed. A flashing red dot indicates the exact place the chip has been activated and this time you chuckle. ‘Leave it to that control-freak to throw in my bag a tracking device for me to launch.’  
Glancing at the screen, you finally breathe a sigh of relief and relax back into the leather seat, knowing that someone will be send to get you, if not immediately then first thing tomorrow morning. With the gadget gently placed on the dashboard and your current worry dispersed, the events from the day start catching up with you.  
Unknowingly and definitely against your own will, your eyes water and your breathing becomes ragged. Seconds later, after disadvantageous struggle, rivulets of salty tears start streaming down your cheeks and chin before falling on your T-shirt. Feeling like there’s not enough air in the compartment you unconsciously bend forward and rest your forehead on the wheel, your hands gripping its sides for dear life, as wave after wave of misery, pain, betrayal and hurt wash over you mercilessly, crashing down any defence you might have offered. Despite hiccupping and shaking violently, not a single sound skips past your tightly sealed lips as you wait and pray for the turmoil to pass away or at least ebb down to a bearable minimum . Yet the feelings just keep on crashing against you like waves against the shore, making you cringle lowly and bite your lip, drawing blood.  
Time skips past in a torturously slow pace, allowing you to drown in your sorrow and pain, with the storm raging outside almost as if mirroring your inner destruction. Having the perfect background to your suffering, in a fit of despair or straight madness, you jump out of the car, not minding the bullet-like droplets crashing against your sensitive skin, and start screaming to your heart’s delight, yell and hit the car with your fists. The wind howls in sync with you and for a split second you feel like the only thing on your side today in the weather; hurt and maddened, filled with clashing emotions that threaten to tumble over the boat of your sanity, you keep on vociferating and cursing, the inarticulate words not reaching your ears, as the booming sound of the thunders has made your drums ring.  
With tears mixed with rain and blood running down from both your mouth where your teeth bit into the flesh, and your knuckles where the skin gave under the impact with the steal, you feel drained. In a second, as fast as it came, everything is gone; all the emotions that threatened to drown you have now evaporated and you stand there, under the pouring rain in the middle of storm in a desert and can’t help the dullness that makes you apathetic to your surroundings. Right now a coyote may jump out and bite your leg, and for all its worth, you wouldn’t even notice. Just like you didn’t notice the way Michael and your friend were sharing secretive looks, even when you were around; or the way when she called him, he’d excuse himself and go in the other room, closing the door behind his back; or how often they’d go out. You didn’t pay attention to things that were painfully obvious to everyone. ‘Except me, it would seem.’ bitterly chuckling at your own blindness, you sit on the hood of the car, not minding neither your drenched clothes, nor the minacious thunders that deaden any sound, but their own. ‘God, even Owen told me to pay attention! To keep my senses sharpened!! He implied, the bastard, to snap out of my stupor! And what did I do? I told him to fuck off, like some spoiled brad, not wishing to listen to its parents!!’ the hate that got you going all murderous on the car now turns inwards and the desire to literally jump under a lightning takes over.  
“I’m fucking pathetic!” you murmur under your breath, but another thunder swallows the sound.  
And then you see it. The light in the end of the road. With an eyebrow arched its way, you can’t help the scoff that leaves you. As the light comes closer, you stay glued to your place, with a rather emotionless look on your face, your clouded mind not really wrapping around the idea of what’s going on. And when the source of the light, a car, stops next to you, you simply tilt your head to the side, still as emotionless as a few minutes ago. Even when the door opens harshly and a distinguishably male figure strides your way, you don’t flinch. In the back of your mind you know you should do something, react in a way, but right now you seem to have forgotten how. So instead you stay still and give the newcomer an empty look.  
“Get in the car!” that’s the only thing Owen tells you before heading for your stuff.  
No ‘how are you’, or ‘what happened’, or hell, ‘are you insane for staying out in the rain’. Nothing. Just a barked order, which, you realise, you are happily to obey. With rather robotic and stiff movements you get off the hood and go to the silver Austin Martin. Once inside the warm compartment, you mechanically put on the seatbelt and lay back, closing your eyes and just shutting your brain off.  
You don’t know when Shaw entered the car, or started the engine, let alone for how long he has been driving; all that reaches your ears is the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof that lulls you into a blissful trance. You might have dozed off at a certain point, but once the car comes to a halt and the engine dies out, your eyes blink open. At first it’s all a little bit blurry and pitch and for a second the fear that you might have gone blind from crying grips you; only when a few seconds later your vision clears, you sigh with relief and look at the neon sign flashing right in front of you. The word motel makes you do a double take, before turning towards Shaw with the intention to ask him why you have stopped here, only to find the driver’s seat vacant. Frowning slightly and once again looking through the windshield you see his figure coming closer. By the way his body moves in a rather rigid manner, you know he’s beyond pissed. ‘Murderous suits him better.’  
Unfastening the seatbelt, you can’t help but shiver as your whole body feels cold and stiff; as if you are a moving corpse. With a hand rubbing at your cheek to chase away the last remains of sleep, with dread you realise there are tear stains all over the skin, meaning you must have been crying at some point throughout the journey here. Shame and shock suddenly make you want to hit your head hard against the dashboard, but right then your door opens and a hand pulls you out of the car with unexpected tenderness. Once out under the rain, you realise that it is a lot colder than it was inside. Yet Owen’s hand that tugs you along doesn’t allow you to pounder on than any further and you silently follow the man to one of the rooms.  
He unlocks the door and turns the light switch on, bathing the room in a yellowish light. You cringle at the way your eyes get irritated and frown, but voice no complaint. As soon as he drags you inside and makes you sit on a chair, the reality from the last few hours comes back to you in a rush. Not only did you lost your mind and went in the rain to let some steam off, but also Owen came to pick up your sorry drenched ass from the middle of nowhere, only to find you as mad as a hatter, sitting on the hood of the car with an empty look. Furthermore he drove all the way to a motel, without voicing neither his probable anger with your childish behaviour, nor the fact that he had warned you what would happen. And this silent approach worries you to the point where you find yourself searching for his eyes, needing to know what he thinks or feels. Unfortunately he only offers you his back, a clear indicator he’s not anywhere near pleased. Silently, as if not to anger him further, you head towards the bathroom, in need of a hot shower and some time to think without feeling his eyes boring holes through you.  
The spray of hot water and the thick steam make you both moan in delight and hiss in pain, as the coldness of your skin doesn’t go well with the heat of the shower, nor do your wounds. Either ways, ignoring the itching pain, you let the blissful waterfall hit your face and wash away the tears, sweat, dirt and all the pain that you feel has stuck to your body. Gradually your stiff muscles relax and your body warms up; soon even your mind gets clearer and your usual practical self resurfaces for long enough to put some order into your haphazard thoughts.  
‘Owen warned me from the very begging to be careful with Michael. He knew something was off, but I paid no attention to him.’ the realisation that Shaw, who keeps all his emotions to himself at all-time, took the time and effort to observe that bastard and warn you about his double-faced self both touches and puzzles you.  
In desperate attempt to get the feeling of Michael’s hands off of your body, you rinse yourself with such passion that your skin gets red and irritated, but at least it feels semi-clean. Once ready, you wrap a towel around your body, and exit the bathroom, expecting to find Owen already sleeping or doing something more important on his phone. But, opposite to your guesses, he is sitting on the bed, with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin probed on his intertwined fingers, a strange looks in his deep green eyes. In that exact moment a lightning flashes outside and the outlines of his body get sharper and more threatening, making you gulp. ‘If I’m lucky, I’ll only get a nice scold. And if I’m not – he’ll burry me in the sands of the desert where no one can find me.’  
A sudden shiver runs down your spine and you avert your gaze from his, feeling both intimidated and ashamed. Spotting your bag in a near-by chair, you rummage through its content and find the large T-shirt you usually sleep in; for unknown reason it somehow got into your traveling bag, which now seems quite convenient. Either way, you return to the bathroom and after drying your skin you put it on. Only then do you spear the mirror a glance, immediately regretting the decision – there are almost purple circles under your red from the crying eyes and the skin’s puffy; your cheeks are rosy from the hot shower, but the swollen bottom lip kills the otherwise acceptable state of your face – the fact that the skin is irritated to the point where it stings you like hell only speaks of severe biting having occurred. ‘I look like crap. But I feel like such, so I guess it’s no big deal.’ shrugging off and running a hand through your hair, you once again return to other room. Owen is still in the same place, in the same position with the same look in his eyes, making you feel uneasy.  
“How bad have I messed up by your standards?” the fact that your voice sounds groggy and husky startles you, until you remember you were actually shouting at the sky not so long ago, so it’s not that surprising your vocal cords have lost their ability to reproduce normal sounds.  
Gently massaging your throat you lock your eyes with his, only to see slight confusion in them while he thinks through your question. Waiting patiently in front of him, you can’t help but feel like a student standing in the headmaster’s office, about to hear she’s being grounded or even worse, expelled. With a rather irrational thrill, but a decent amount of fear, you twirl a strand of your still damp hair around your finger, fighting against the desire to start smashing things around.  
“You are not in trouble, Y/N.” he finally sighs and straightens his back, a hand coming up rub his eyes, as obviously sleep is catching up with him.  
“I’m… not?” it’s a futile attempt to try and voice your thoughts, but it sounds surreal that you’re off the hook.  
“No.” this time his reply sounds mild and somehow amused, which startles you to the point where you raise an eyebrow his way. “It was not your fault the car broke down in the middle of a desert.”  
After the last part you wonder whether to be thankful that he’s obviously ignoring the actions that followed after that, or angry at his lack of reaction. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you cherish the gesture of him not rubbing in your face your own blindness and failure. So taking a seat next to him, you give him a small, genuine smile.  
“Thank you for coming to save my ass. And generally for taking care of me.” it’s easier and less painful to whisper, so you opt for that.  
Owen just looks at you, his eyes studying your face for a second, before he nods and stands up, heading for the bathroom.  
“Rest.” with that the door closes behind him with a soft click.  
The sound of the running water and the thunders outside would have lulled you, wasn’t it for the thoughts plaguing your mind. Only now, when you are finally free from the chains of your swooned heart you realise what a fool you have been making of yourself for the past few months. And Shaw was always the one to point out your wrongs; you despised that trait of his back then, but now it downs on you that he had been trying to help, in a rather harsh manner, but none the less in a way no one else did. And even before all this shit happened – it was always him that kept the head on your shoulders when things got heated up. It’s uncommon for a man like him to try and keep you alive, when in his eyes you must be just a piece of the puzzle, a tool he can change whenever he sees fit. ‘And yet…’ And yet instead of leaving you on your own devices, he protects you. ‘Jesus, he travelled through half a state to come and pick me up! Found me a shelter, a bed. ’ as the realisations come one by one, a feeling of something having changed swirls in you.  
It will be a lie if you say you don’t feel attracted to him; Owen Shaw may be a rattle snake that bites in a blink of an eye, but he is one devilishly good-looking snake. Once again the feeling of being filthy creeps under your skin, making you sit up in the middle of the bed and stare at the wall, fighting off the instinct to start scratching. ‘A devilishly good-looking snake, I’d gladly let wrap itself around me and kill me.’ the thought lingers in your mind long enough to wake up your cold body, a newly discovered energy and warmth swirling in the pits of your stomach. Around the same time the water stops, a lightning lands close by and the power goes off, leaving you in utter darkness.  
“Yeah. Better and better.” you mumble sarcastically under your breath and stand up, heading for your bag and a flashlight.  
As you are a few steps away from where the chair’s supposed to be, a lightning strikes once again, illuminating the room, and showing you not only the piece of furniture but also Owen’s naked chest, just a few steps away. Channelling all your self-control and tearing your eyes away from his muscular front, you meet his gaze, in which a flicker of amusement flashes.  
What happens next can be blamed on many things – the weather, the heartbreak, the mental breakdown, or just your ever present infatuation with the dangerous man. For all you care, it can be hormones clouding you brain. One way or another, you face him and voice your thoughts, pushing away the fear of rejection that pesters you.  
“I need to ask a favour.” once again whispering, you notice how his whole body grows tense and his muscles flex.  
His raised eyebrow is the only indication that he heard you, so collecting all the bravery you can muster, you continue in a steady voice.  
“I feel his hands on me. And no matter how much I scrub at the skin, I can’t get them off.”  
He tilts his head to the side slightly and you can’t help but notice the sudden change in his look – the predator in him has awoken.  
“Get that feeling off of me, Owen. Please.”  
Without having to ask him twice, in a blink of an eye his hands are around your waist, pulling you flush against his still wet chest, as his lips capture yours in a dominant kiss. It’s obvious he has no intention to be gentle or patient. Quite the opposite actually – by the way his hands quickly get rid of your T-shirt and explore your naked back you can guess he’ll be passionate and raw; and maybe that’s what you need.  
In a single movement he grabs you and hoists you up, without your lips parting. By instinct your legs lock behind his back and pull him closer to your aching core, suddenly realising just how much you need this, need him. It doesn’t matter what may happen tomorrow or in a week; only this very moment holds any importance to you, and you plan to cherish it. So finally letting down your high walls, the prejudice and fear, a wild passion and primal need corrupt your mind, making you moan into the kiss as soon as Owen’s hands squeeze your bum in a possessive manner. ‘That’s what he’ll be tonight – possessive.’ the satisfactory purr vibrates in your chest, mixing with his low growl once your hands end up in his messy hair.  
Despite the darkness and the raging storm outside, in this little safe heaven, and most importantly in his arms, you feel at peace. Now your whole body yearns to give Shaw, the man who you are supposed to work rather than sleep with, and who is highly dangerous in any sense of the world, all your devotion.  
His lips are merciless, not minding your injured bottom lip as they fight against yours, furiously desiring to hold you captive, submissive. Once thrown over the bed with his hot body on top, you hardly manage to collect your breath, yet that little defiant spark appears, and for a first time you allow yourself the liberty to touch him – not formally, but with passion, desire, lust even. And he seems to enjoy it, as his hands move with equal zest up and down your curves.  
When you part, he doesn’t even spare a second but rather begins what turns out to be a long and torturous journey down your body, nipping, biting and doing whatever he pleases under the constant sound of your low moans and hisses, successfully getting rid of Michael’s handprints. By the time his mouth once again finds yours, you are dripping wet and ready; the fact that he prefers to prolong what may be your punishment only manages to anger you. The last drop is the coy smirk he flashes you seconds before kissing you with raw and unmasked lust. That’s when that small defiant spark turns into an overwhelming fire and in a fit of power and playfulness you roll your tangled bodies so that you can straddle him.  
Owen seems to not favour what you did, as his hands dig into the skin on your thighs, making you whimper, and as revenge reach forward and bite his lip. The moan that reaches your delicate hearing makes your insides curl; it doesn’t matter whether it was from shock or pleasure, but you already feel addicted to Shaw’s soft moans, and definitely wish to hear more of them. Yet before having the chance to even do anything, he uses his superior strength and spins your bodies around, pinning you to the bed, his hot and rock hard body flush against your curves, allowing you to feel just how hard he’s gotten, before his teeth sink into your neck. Arching your back and hissing, your own nails run down his broad back, probably leaving red trails behind, while shamelessly rubbing yourself against him. The growl that erupts from him makes you bite your lip in anticipation, completely forgetting that the skin’s still rather sensitive. When the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth you give a low hiss, like an irritated cat, making Owen push up on his elbows and look at you. The only thing you notice is the primal desire in his now dark eyes and his stiff jaw, as if he’s throwing some effort to hold back. You barely manage to breathe in when he kisses you with new passion, teasingly nipping at your wound and tasting the blood, all the meanwhile one of his hands ends up between your spread legs, checking if you are ready. Suddenly one of his fingers enters you, making you moan and arch your back, greedy for more, but his low dominant growl makes you hold back any further action. Instead a new idea comes to mind and once your lips are free, you give the male a small mischievous smile and kiss his jaw, then his neck. Once over his Adam apple, you gently graze your teeth over the thin skin, and with satisfaction notice the way he shudders and moans. The fact that he allows you this freedom makes you feel dizzy and happy in a rather goofy way. And as if to prove him how wrong his decision was to allow you anywhere his neck, you nip at the skin where his neck connects with his shoulder. The effect is immediate – the sharp intake of breathe, followed by a growl get muffled by your hiss as he enters you in a single thrust, up to the hilt, filling you in a painful, yet pleasant way. For a whole second everything stays still, before his lips capture yours, muffling the moans that follow as his pace gradually increases.  
The surprise comes when he changes the position – something you never believed a man so close to his release can think of doing. And yet he does it. With a single move he pulls away, grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder, while wrapping your other one around his waist. Your eyes widen with amazement, and a twinkle of horror as under different circumstances your legs would have never stretched in this way. His sudden thrust, sharp and deep, makes a loud moan skip past your swollen lips, as his shaft hits a very special spot deep within you. The fact that you have to grit your teeth and claw at the sheets in order not to come there and then is something you’d pat yourself on the shoulder first thing tomorrow morning. His low groan and the fact that he bites at your calf don’t help your case, nor does the leisure pace he sets while rotating his hips in a way that drives you insane in more ways than one.  
“God, Owen! Please!!” your voice is hoarse and thick with lust, making said man groan with pleasure and give one hard thrust before resuming his torturous ministration.  
It’s no wonder your walls begin to contract around his member, and you’d have cum right then and there, but his husky from desire voice stops you.  
“Not yet!” that’s everything he says, and as if a magician with his magic wand, he manages to procrastinate your release.  
The command’s effect on you baffles that small, still functioning part in the back of your brain, but another spin of Owen’s hips has you throwing your head back, a low moan echoing in the room.  
Hidden in the darkness, you hope he doesn’t notice the way your cheeks have reddened or the desire that’s written all over your face. Oh, how poorly mistaken you are. Nothing skips past the watchful eyes of a predator, and certainly not when his pray is wriggling underneath him, needy, desperate and most importantly - at his mercy.  
For a few more minutes he keeps this pace, but it’s evident he has reached his limit as well, as he’s short of breath and groans lowly each time he feels your walls squeezing around his shaft. Suddenly releasing your leg, which flops down without an ounce of grace, he bends forward and attacks your neck, his kisses making you moan louder, as this is one of your most sensitive places, and the bastard knows it. And the way he treats it – with kisses, licks, bites, leaving hickey in his way, only arouse you further; it’s just normal that your hands end up in his hair, fisting the short locks and pushing his face closer to your burning skin.  
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” your voice comes out as a desperate hiss once the pace gets faster, and sloppier, as the release for both of you is close.  
“Say my name. I want to hear you scream it!” his husky voice against your ear triggers something wild in you, clouding your mind and chasing away any rational thought.  
With the quickening of his thrust, the frequency of your moans increases, his low growls vibrating against your marked skin. Yet your lack of obedience seems to irk him to get cruel as he stops moving, making you whimper. Opening your eyes and glaring at him in a way that may kill someone, you are almost completely sure that if he doesn’t start moving soon, you’ll simply rape him, and that’s that.  
“Don’t you fucking-” your growl is cut short when he re-enters you roughly, making you hiss, your nails once again digging into his back. “Owen, yes! Ah!”  
The hearing of his name is his cue and he smirks victoriously before continuing to ravage your body, this time with passion that threatens to set you on fire. The faster he moves the louder you moan and say his name, feeling your whole body curling up, ready for a climax that’ll shoot you off towards the moon.  
Seconds before all your senses get washed by an explosion of pleasure, you grab your lover by the neck, making your lips clash in a short, yet passionate kiss. When you part, only with a brief glance you know he’ll be soon at his end. And then it happens. Unexpectedly. Uncalled for. Your climax is like a tidal wave colliding with a straw house; you get swept away like nothing, barely registering the fact that Owen’s name is on your lips while the world crumbles down around you.

Finally there’s a sense of tranquillity in you, as if your soul has finally thrown away the chains that had been keeping it firmly planted in one place. Everything seems easier and lighter – your breath, your mind, your heart. A small smile unconsciously appears on your lips as you feel a hand stroking your shoulder, while you snuggle closer to a warm chest, the scent of male and sex in the air making that sweet cherubic smile grow into a mischievous smirk.  
“Can I ask you for another favour?” your voice is sleepy as tiredness finally catches up with you.  
The male next to your gives a low humming sound, indicating that he’s all ears for your next whim.  
Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you look at Owen who appears infinitely pleased with himself; under different circumstances that victorious smirk would have made you grow tense and probably hiss something his way, but right now is warms you up from the inside. Without realising what you’re doing, one of your fingers gently traces the outlines of his face. With wonder you notice how he slightly leans into your touch, obviously not finding it repulsive.  
“Can you hold me close?” your voice is small, resembling the one of a child.  
Halfway expecting him to warn you not to push your luck, you yelp when his hands wrap themselves around you and pull you closer to his chest. For once in your life, feeling secure in someone else’s embrace, you allow a small, distinguishably feminine smile to grace your features as you lean forward and place a chaste kiss right above his heart, before resting your head on his chest.  
“Thank you.”  
The words ghost over his skin as your eyes close and you drift away into a dreamless sleep, free of fear and pain.


	4. Gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a nighmare you find yourself seeking solace is Owen's room.

The apartment is drowned in peaceful silence, the shadows scurrying over every surface they manage to lay their transparent limbs on. Only the seldom passing of a car outside and the roar of its engine disturb the tranquillity.   
A sudden heartrending scream cuts through the silence, reminding a howl of a banshee with its painfully strained and high-pitched sound, before it dies out as abruptly as it appeared. Silence once again takes over the living space, the shadows continuing their dance.

Your own scream trusts you back into reality and you jump up in bed, one hand going over your tightened throat and the other – over your heart, feeling it pumping blood in such vigorous manner, as if it’s trying to break free from its rib prison. It takes you half a minute to finally manage and intake a small gulp of oxygen, a cough following right behind it, as your dry throat protests. The next half is enough for the tears to die out, leaving the skin on your cheeks tightened in an irritating manner. ‘It was just a bad dream. Nothing to be scared of.’ the mantra you have been using ever since those horrific visions appeared gradually manages to sooth your strained nerves, allowing more air to reach your lungs and the last remains of sleep to disappear. Throwing your feet off the bed, you let them dangle for some time, using the opportunity to chase away the nausea, caused by the terrifying experience. Eventually you drag yourself to the bathroom where a nice hot shower washes away the dread and dizziness. Finally dried and with a big T-shirt hanging loosely around your shoulders, you walk out of the room and down the hall, heading for the kitchen with the intention to pour yourself a glass of milk. For all you know, Owen may still be gone on one of those long missions of his, as he has been absent for the past week, so there’s little point in wishing to hide in his embrace and seek solace. Yet a small voice in the back of your head pleads with you to just go and check in his room – today may be your lucky day. Involuntarily scoffing at the last part you halt and turn around. With gentle and ghostly silent movements you push the wooden door ajar and stick your hear through the tiny space, your eyes, already accustomed to the darkness, scanning the room with hope. And there, on the huge bed you manage to glimpse a sudden movement. ‘What’s the chance of having a thief break into the apartment, rummage soundlessly around and eventually decide to take a nap?’ a small smile finds its way on your still rather pale face and you slip in the room, closing the door with a soft click.   
Usually Owen is a light sleeper – if a fly buzzes close by he’ll immediately be up and ready. The only exception is when he’s back after a long mission and just flops dead in the bed – then even a horde of bulls running next to him won’t make him bulge. And since even your deafening scream that snapped you out of your sleep didn’t wake him, then his days must have been pretty long.   
Once close enough to his sleeping form you can’t help but admire his angelic face, graced by the mildness of a sleeping child and finally void of its constant sagacity. All his muscles are relaxed and the soft rising and falling of his chest is a clear indicator that he’s far out of your reach. As the life finally starts to return to your shaken body, you sit on the edge of the bed and continue studying his features – the black hair sprawled over the white pillow, the thick eyelashes resting on his cheeks, the softly parted lips. As your eyes take him in for what feels like a first time in forever, a childish glee forms in the pits of your stomach. ‘He’s finally home.’   
When your thumb gently ghosts over his bottom lip, Owen doesn’t wake up. Maybe it is the opportunity to finally be able to see him after so long or just the adrenalin that’s still pumping though your veins, but sudden desire forms in the pits of your belly and your fingers gingerly trace over his stubble. When nothing happens you delve further and allow your lips to touch his cheek, brushing over the skin like a feather. Before your know it, you have crawled as slowly and soundlessly as possible next to his sleeping form and are now exploring his exposed skin with both your fingers and lips. Concentrating in keeping your breathing shallow and minimising the movements of your body so not to shake the bed, you enjoy this mischievous side that has surfaced. Despite having a soft spot for you, Owen rarely allows you to touch him so sensually; he’s a man that likes to give and take roughly, which in no way worries you. But tonight, after having that nightmare, you feel rather playful and in the mood for softness rather than hot and passionate sex. ‘Not that I’ll get either – he’s out cold.’ yet that doesn’t discourage you one bit; you don’t even mind – it will be better if he stays asleep – that way you can finally explore his body in a way you have been dreaming of for so long.   
With slow movements you pull the blanket off of his body and with satisfaction find out he has no T-shirt on, his bare chest left unprotected from your hungry gaze. Bending over his hot flesh, you take a whiff of his odour – soap mixed with his musky and earthy scent. Involuntarily your mouth waters, but you know better than to act rashly. So allowing your hair to fall freely around you, your lips start their journey from his strong jaw then down his neck, collarbones, over his heart, down his chest and then back up. Each and every movement you make is measured with precision and is lighter than the touch of a fairy wing, successfully not waking the sleeping dragon. A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips at the comparison with a huge fire-breathing lizard. ‘Owen can be a scary and merciless dragon if he wishes. ’ you admit and slightly push yourself up, so that you’re leaning on your side next to him, your fingers beginning their sensual dance over the surface of his chest, following the invisible trail your lips left behind. Only when your nails gently tease the skin right below his navel does the male give a low throaty sound that resembles a moan. Your whole body freezes, your hand hovering over his skin as you stay on high alert. When his eyes don’t blink open nor a groan of protest follows, you place your palm right above his heart, but without actually touching the skin. Even then you feel the heat that radiates from Owen’s body and can’t help but note that he wasn’t this warm when you first touched him. Stealing a glance down his body, a victorious smirk tugs at your lips and a naughty flame appears in your eyes. ‘His mind may be dead for the world, but his body is certainly not.’ with a soft purr you once again pull the covers a little bit lower, stopping right above the bulge that has formed due to your little game. The goddess in you can’t help but feel rather delighted at the realisation that your lover not only discarded his usual T-shirt, but also his boxers. And while on the inside you are beaming, on the outside the mistress has taken control and once again your lips find their way around his skin. This time you spend slightly more time lingering on his neck, marvelling at the way his Adam apple moves under your lips. Spontaneously your tongue glides over the protrusion, the taste of his skin making your insides curl. And if you weren’t slightly wet by now, then after his low, more prominent moan you can feel your panties damping considerably.   
Slowly moving lower, you can’t help the gusts of wind that escape you – the more you try to control your breathing, the harder it gets to actually not pant. With your hair trailing after you, and your cool fingers continuing their sensual dance, it’s no wonder that a low groan disturbs the silence seconds later. By the time your lip kiss his stomach and your fingers make a few circles right below his navel, another low moan appears, this time not so distant due to the blanket of sleep, but rather clear and accompanied by the moving of the body below you. ‘The dragon has been awoken.’ Allowing a small gust of wind the travel over his skin, loving the way Owen intakes sharply, you finally lift your eyes to meet his. The green pools are void of the dizziness customary for someone who just woke up, but are filled with amusement and unhidden lust. Crawling up his body like a predator towards its prey, you finally reach his face and place a gentle peck on his cheek, his stubble tickling your soft skin.  
With a low hum his hands immediately find their way under your T-shirt and go to the small of your back.   
“I didn’t intend to wake you up. You must be tired.” despite him being fully awake, you keep your voice at a low whisper as you nuzzle at his neck.   
Another low humming sound follows before his hands pull you closer to him. Looking back up at his eyes, halfway expecting to see a small amount of scold there, you are pleasantly surprised to be met with passion and still the same amusement.  
“If you didn’t want to wake me, then I’m curious to know what exactly you intended to do...” his still husky from the sleep voice makes something in you squeal as the predator in him seems to be intimidating you quite openly.  
“Just play around.” you catch his lips for a second before pulling away and placing small pecks over his cheeks and jaw. “Worship you for a while maybe.” once again you kiss him, this time for a little longer, before pushing yourself up, a small mischievous smile on your lips.   
For a second he eyes you, his calculating gaze making something inside of you wince as you can tell he already has figured out the reason you decided to hide in his room in the first place. You only sneak in and don’t wake him up when you have had a nightmare. The fact that you preferred to play delicately with his sleeping body than wake him only leads to the conclusion that this nightmare was worse than the others; only when petrified do you seek soft and tender touch. He knows that. And he knows he can’t be gentle. He never was. Having you under him, panting, screaming, covered in sweat and with your hair spread like a halo around you as he fucks you hard and deep is what he can offer. But right now that’s not what you need. And that thought sets him off in a way nothing else can – not being able to provide you with what you desire; it makes something in him twist painfully, and a condemningly spat word repeatedly spins in his head. ‘Monster.’  
There are times when he wonders if the thing you dream about that upsets you in such a harsh way, is him. Is he the demon tormenting you? Are his actions what makes you scream and trash around, covered in tears? You never share what haunts you. But you never look at him with something apart from warmth either, so he has that small hope it’s not his face that breaks you each and every time. And tonight you seem even more shattered than usual – the fear is still lurking in the corners of your eyes, your body still trembles slightly and occasionally your right eyebrow twitches in a manner speaking of great shock being experienced not so long ago. At the thought that you were on your own the past few days, that had to calm yourself down without him holding you close to his chest and run his fingers through your hair while you stopped sobbing, his eyes harden. He hates it when you suffer; especially when you suffer due to him not being able to help. Oh, how he wishes he could be the man you deserve– someone who can touch you softly, love you slowly and wash away the fear and tears. But that’s not in his nature – he’s a dragon after all, as you love to call him. You mean no insult with the nickname, you never did, but now it sounds like a stamp over his soul – never to be caring or gentle.   
Owen seems to have gone into a world of his own, as his eyes suddenly avert and become distant. You don’t need to be a telepath to know what bothers him. You always knew what managed to crawl under his skin and what not. Right now it is you. He feels helpless when you sneak into his bed covered in tears and still shaking. You know he either lays awake, stroking your hair gently, or pretends to be asleep, allowing you to cuddle closer and stick to him like a leech, in order to calm down. He never knew how to act when you became so fragile, so small and breakable. And that petrifies him. Getting to hurt you in any way is what keeps him away, his body stiff and his movements mechanical – he fears that even the smallest stroke may snap you, unleashing another flow of tears.  
Smiling softly you cup his face, bringing his attention back to you. You know him well enough to know that right now he hates himself for not being able to help. So instead of making him cope with your requirements, you just shake your head slowly and stroke his cheek. In a single movement Owen sits up and with little effort pulls you over him, making you spread your legs and straddle him. There’s regret that spins in his green eyes, and the desperate need to chase it away takes over you. Leaning down and capturing his lips with yours, you are amazed when his usual dominance doesn’t surface; instead his lips move slowly against yours, testing, while his hands end up on your waist. When he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, you don’t know whether to worry or admire him. ‘He’s trying.’ and that’s all you need to know – that at least he’s willing to give it a shot; it doesn’t matter whether he’ll succeed or lose himself somewhere along the way. And for his effort you feel so grateful that your hands wrap around his shoulders and pull him in for another kiss. Only when you part again do you notice the small smirk playing on his lips – usually that means no good.  
“Then keep on playing and worshiping. I’d gladly provide you with my body.” the deepness of his voice makes you bite your lip, your womanhood beginning to throb.   
He lies back down, with his hands behind his head and a rather smug expression on his face, almost perfectly masking his anticipation and slight worry. ‘Almost.’  
Once again resuming your small game, your lips continue their journey down his jaw and neck, paying special attention to places you know will make him react, and soon enough Owen’s hands are griping the sheets at his side, a small hiss filling the silence as your teeth gently graze over the skin before your tongue follows close behind. Going down, you take your time to marvel at his toned body, loving the way he hisses and growls whenever you come across a delicate spot, lingering there for a while. Once again reaching his navel and doing some lazy circles around it with one hand, the other traces his V-lines that lead to a rather tempting place to explore. Yet tonight you’re not in for oral love – that’ll end with you underneath him in an eye blink, his considerate approach tossed out of the window. ‘No need to test his limits.’ you tell yourself before once again going up, but not without ‘innocently’ rubbing your damp panties over the bulge under the sheets. Owen’s growl grows into a groan when your hands resume their rather tempting dance over his skin, touching it lightly, feather-like, exploring every inch they manage to reach – from his chest, to his shoulders, down his arms to his palms. When your fingers intertwine with his, you capture his lips into a soft, yet slightly provoking kiss, your tongue asking for permission to enter his mouth. And to your utter amazement he allows it – his lips part and you cautiously explore this new territory. It has always been the other way around – him dominating over you, so now when you have the power to do what you want, you feel perplexed – should you actually follow your heart’s desires or better leave things be? Would he manage to keep up with your pace or will he impose his own? Either way you decide to risk it. ‘Win it or lose it!’   
It’s when your tongue glides over his sharp incisors, resembling a vampire’s fangs that Owen groans against you. His hands stay planted in the sheets, probably in fear that the moment he has a grip over you, he’ll lose his motivation to be gentle. Eventually you part, panting but smiling and place your forehead against his in a sign of gratitude. His ragged breathing and the tension in his muscles under your hands is a clear indicator that he’s already having it a little bit difficult to hold back, but doesn’t make a move to conquer you.   
With a single movement you sit up and pull the T-shirt over your head, leaving your upper body naked and unprotected from his hungry eyes. Thereafter you cautiously stand up, as the mattress is not steady enough so that you can walk over it with confidence and step to the side, no longer over Owen. With a single movement, slow but sensual, you slip your panties down your legs and once free of them, kick them out of the bed. As you do so, you can feel Shaw’s eyes following each and every movement you make. Stepping off of the bed and finally on hard ground, with a flick of your wrist you pull the covers onto the floor so that nothing can stand between you and him. Crawling back like a lioness, you capture his lips while straddling his waist. It’s no wonder than when you get comfortable enough, you can feel his hard member against your thigh. Deepening the kiss with a tilt of your head, you use the opportunity to rub yourself against him in rather shy manner. Owen intakes sharply and you notice his biceps tightening as his hands grip the sheets firmer, almost to the point where they will get torn apart. After giving some attention to his neck again, you return to his mouth and capture it in a sensual kiss, your tongue taking the liberty to enter his hot mouth. That way you muffle your own moan that follows as soon as you slowly slide down his hard member, feeling it stretch your walls. Parting in order to breathe in, you can’t help the soft groan that slips past your lips as you take him in completely. For a second you stand still, giving both of you some time to collect yourselves, before bringing your hips up, then slowly back down. Then another small stop. Then back up and slowly down. With ease you set the pace, as you ride him sensually and with care, not fast and sloppy; the experience is new for both of you, as for a first time you get to feel him moving in you with such precision. Once his hips jerk up to meet your own, though, your hand comes to rest on his abdomen, gently pushing him down. Bending over his body, with your hair spreading like a veil, you capture his lips, all the meanwhile one hand keeps him down and the other keeps you up. The pace is once again set by you, as you slowly thrust up and down his length, your walls contracting around him in a way that has him short of breath.   
“Slowly, love.” your words ghost over his cheek as you place yet another kiss there before pushing yourself back up, your hand gently following the ups and downs of his chest.   
Owen’s eyes are halfway closed as he is having a hard time being the passive one. Something devilish in you takes over, and suddenly you spin your hips, rubbing yourself against him. Immediately his back arches and his hands grip the sheets with such ferocity that they give a low tearing sound. Resuming the previous pace, you can’t help but admire the way his chest lifts and falls rapidly, his head thrown back and his jaw clenched tightly. Thrusting yourself down, you once again do the rotating movement, his sweet low moan resonating in the room, mixed with the panting of both of you.   
A car hurtles outside, the wheezing sound of tires coming to a halt cutting through the air, but it stays unnoticed by you two, as suddenly Owen sits up and wraps his hands around you before burying his head in the crook of your neck. Not breaking the pace, your hands come to rest around his shoulders.  
“Spin us.” you whisper in his ear.  
“I can’t.” he pants as his whole body stiffens once you lower yourself around his shaft, making him intake sharply.   
“You can. I trust you.” your voice ghosts over his temple.  
Deciding he needs some more convincing, you grab one of his hands and place it over your lower stomach. The hard muscles are not what you want to show him, but the way he moves in you. With the current angle, he can clearly feel his member thrusting in and out of you, stretching your insides. Running your free hand through his hair, you can feel him shiver at this new experience. It’s bizarre and a little bit weird, but also a major turn on, so you use the opportunity and roll your hips. Owen’s fingers gently claw at the flesh making a shiver run down your spine.  
“I trust you.” you whisper in his ear once again and just like that he turns you over.  
For a second he stays still, your lips locked in a delicate kiss. When his hips start thrusting back and forth, the pace is slow, slightly uneven, as he is still rather reluctant, but in no way dominating. Appreciating his effort, you pull him closer and slightly lift your hips to meet his thrust.   
Soon your moans fill the air in the room, panting and low growls mixing in a rather pleasing symphony. Yet after a few more thrusts, as the tension in your bodies grows, Owen begins to quicken his thrust, making your still rather shaken body recoil slightly. Raising your delicate hands up and wrapping them around his neck, you pull him closer and capture his lips in a small kiss.  
“Gentle, love. Slowly.” you breathe against his skin.  
In a fit of what seems like despair and hesitation, his forehead comes to rest against yours, his jaw clenched so tightly you can hear the soft gritting of his teeth. One of your hands comes to rest against his cheek, gently stroking it. Exploring his mouth while he stays still, you move your pelvis up and down in slow, lazy motion, making his breath hitch, his eyebrows to furrow and small rivulets of sweat to run down his body. After a minute or so, he renews his movements, his concentration unbreakable as he’s harnessing all his strength in not losing himself. Yet despite his best attempts, soon he can feel the beast in him slipping, falling for the lust and desire to fuck you hard; something that may only result in hurting you. So without a warning he grabs a better hold of you and spins you over, allowing you to once again straddle him. The thin layer of sweat covering his body, his tensed muscles, the lack of breath and the look on his angelic face are all indicative of his current state – he’s close to his climax, which makes your desire for slow pace impossible to implement for him. Not minding the small capitulation, but rather cherishing his efforts, you set a new pace – it’s still slow, but the trusts are deeper, you rotate your hips more frequently and soon even your own body begins to betray you. The more that ball within you reaches the surface, the sloppier your movements get. Unnoticed, Owen’s hands have ended up on your hips and are now gripping you harder, making the thrust sharper. In a heartbeat he sits up and captures your lips with his in a tender kiss, his hips meeting yours as the tension becomes overwhelmingly strong. Your moans fill the room, the sound of skin hitting skin becoming louder.   
It’s like colliding with a stone wall – hard, head-first and knocking yourself out in the process; that’s the feeling that washes over you once your orgasm hits you.   
“Owen!” his name leaves your lips like a rasp before everything spins and fades away.

You are soundlessly asleep in no time, leaving Owen to clean up. After regaining his breath he goes to the bathroom, grabs a towel and leaves one of its ends under the running warm water. Then he goes to your unconscious form and carefully cleans your most intimate parts with small strokes. Making sure he has done his job par excellence, the male pulls back the blanket and throws it over you, so that you won’t get cold. Only then does he proceed to clean himself before jumping under the covers. The second he lays close to you, your body shuffles and rolls so that you snuggle closer. Without even thinking, his hand wraps around your shoulder and pulls you flush against his chest. For a few minutes, until sleep finally comes and takes him, he allows himself the privilege to watch you sleep – you look so innocent and small curled up next to his body. When his lids start to close and his thoughts get sluggish, a small smile finds its way on his lips at the sight of you. A woman that can equally well play the roles of a devil and an angel, were she to decide you are worthy of her effort. ‘I must have done something really good in my previous life to deserve someone as her by my side in this one.’ his last thought makes him chuckle before sleep throws its blanket of harmony and peace over him.


	5. Under the pouring rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All you wanted was to make him happy. You never meant for things to take such a drastic turn for the worse.

Your plan was speckless – nothing could go wrong, you were sure of it. You had spent the day cleaning the apartment, cooking Owen’s favourite meal and generally making sure your shared apartment was cosy and welcoming. You just wanted to make him happy, and Lord, you almost envisioned how he’d smile tiredly at you before pulling you in his arms for a passionate kiss. Then he’d shower and you two would have dinner and then watch the new ‘Hobbit’ movie, just like he promised before leaving for his top-secret mission. In your mind, it was perfect, from start to finish. Spotless like a freshly mopped floor.   
Then how did it all came crashing back down at you? Since the second Owen crossed the threshold, it all went downhill – his mood was below sea-level, his eyes were shooting daggers at everything that breathed and his jaw was clenched in such a manner that you should have sensed the storm brooding behind the horizon. Yet being the positive person you are, you brushed off all those warning signals, foolishly believing some food and warmth would melt his ice. To put it mildly, your own dish was thrown your way, splattering in your face. Not literally, of course, as Owen would never raise a hand against you, no matter how furious he’d get. But metaphorically speaking, he did his job splendidly.   
His moodiness, the foul look in his eyes and the dark clouds you can swear were hovering over his head, small thunders flashing every once in a while, didn’t discourage you even after he made it clear he’d prefer to be left alone. So you set the table and sat down, leaving him no other choice but to take his seat and eat up. He didn’t take notice of the redecoration or that you had changed the curtains which he hated with passion, let alone the food you spend hours preparing. By the time he was done, barely ten words had left him mouth. And despite having the patience of a saint, when he stood up and was about to leave, you confronted him. It’d be an understatement to say that that blew his top. The harmless question of ‘What has happened?’ made him throw a tantrum, to which you responded with equal vehemence. It wasn’t the slightest bit your intension to argue or push him beyond his limits. You just wanted to help, to sooth him down, to allow his restless soul a moment of piece and solace. Unfortunately your tactic backfired at you so badly that it set you off in a way that resulted in you throwing a vase his way.   
It was unintentionally, of course. His shouts, the rage in his eyes and the hints concerning your intelligence were what made you snap. Thankfully for him all the knives were already in the sink, so the closest thing to you was a vase with daffodils. In a moment of blind rage you hurled it at him, aiming for his head. Luckily he moved to the side and missed an awful collision with an expensive piece of fine china. Yet when his shocked stare turned into a mask of cold fury, you wished you had never even brought up the matter.   
The flow of words that left his mouth afterwards, all said in a higher tone than acceptable, made something in you break; it snapped like a twig and this time instead of once again aiming something at his head, you turned on your heel, grabbed your jacket from the hanger and ran off. His shouts followed each and every step you made, yet your wounded pride and heart wouldn’t allow you to return to his side like an obedient puppy. 

*`*`*

That’s how and why you are now standing in the pouring rain, in a park that’s a few blocks away from the apartment. Since you didn’t take into consideration the bad weather before you rushed out of the warmth of your home, now you’re literally shaking like a leaf while walking off your rage. Yet the more the need to hit Owen with a bat subsides, the faster hurt and sorrow prevail.   
The sky is stacked with black, dangerously looming clouds, whose content falls down in showers. The droplets are like bullets, hitting everything they manage to reach with strength that equals a punch. The night’s cold, howling wind tosses around the fallen leaves as well as the raindrops, making it impossible to hide from the storm. There isn’t a living soul in sight, which is actually understandable, as who in his rightful mind would be out when the sky’s trying to tear apart the world below? ‘Me, as it seems.’ self-ironically you point out and hug yourself tighter, resting your back against the tree that has been your shelter for what seems like hours. Technically it’s no more than half an hour since you ran off, leaving one very infuriated Owen behind, but it feels like a lot more.   
Your teeth are rattling as you fight off the feeling of betrayal – not only did he shout at you after you worked your ass off to please him, but he doesn’t even have the decency to come look for you in a storm like this.   
A traitorous tear slides from the corner of your eye as the realisation that he’s not coming due to either his wounded pride or pig-headedness strikes you like a lightning. And as if having sensed your inner turmoil, the weather responds and to your horror a real lightning falls close by, its booming rumble making you cover your ears.   
You are by no means a faint-hearted soul – you deal with all the crawlies, the heights and everything a phobia may represent; until it comes to thunders. Even from inside the safety of your home you always trembled at the sheer thought of them, let alone being thrown in the heart of one. Whenever a storm rages outside, Owen would pull you flush against his chest, tucking you under the blankets and offering the safety of his presence as a soothing ointment as soon as you begun hiccupping and shaking violently. Now such option doesn’t exist. ‘Just my luck! Alone outside in a storm!! Could this get any better??’ Usually when you tempt fate, it comes back to bite you in the ass.   
Another lightning strikes, this time even closer, shedding its ghostly light around, and for a sole second your heart stops. When it begins to pump blood throughout your body moments later, you can feel a painful clench in your chest, as the usually steady beat is now erratic and uneven, making you feel short of breath. The scenario of hyperventilating that’s unfolding at this very instance always results in a single way – fainting. ‘Calm down. It’s just a lousy storm. Yeah, a few lightings here and there, but whatever! You are a big girl! You can fight this!!’ unfortunately your reassurances ends up to be a futile waste of time, as seconds after another lightning tears at the sky, you feel a lump form in your throat. Preventing the shaking of your body and the tears is already out of the question, so you focus the remains of your strength in steadying your heartbeat.   
In the deafening silence that follows after the latest jolt of electricity collided with the ground, a male’s voice cuts the air’s stillness, a single name vibrating through the thick with electric current space. Your name. Frantically looking around, desperate and filled with dread, you manage to notice the outlines of a silhouette moving in the distance. In this very moment a blissful happiness spills within you in such magnitude that it could be Satan coming to take you, and you’d still be glad to see him.   
In a weak attempt to move towards the figure you realise your feet won’t be able to carry you anywhere; fear has you paralyzed. And since the lump in your throat prevents you from speaking, the fear returns, this time due to the possibility that whoever decided to come look for you won’t manage to spot you.   
To your amazement, instead of drifting away in the wrong direction, led by the dancing shadows, the silhouette suddenly changes its course and purposefully heads towards you. Only after another lightning meets the ground not far away you see who bothered to leave the safety of their home.   
“Bless the providence and all its oracles!” you mutter under your breath as Owen’s strides turn into a jog after he makes sure it’s you who’s halfway dead against the tree.   
It’s hard to believe that no more than two hours ago you threw a vase his way and now you’re throwing yourself at him, but that’s that. The second Shaw’s body is close enough you risk it and make a few cautions steps. Thankfully he reacts faster and catches you in his arms before your jelly legs lead you down into the dirt. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and hug him, all his previous actions forgiven and forgotten.   
He strokes your hair gently while holding you tight against his broad chest.  
“I’m so sorry I threw a vase at you. I didn’t mean to.” finally having regained the ability to voice your thoughts, you quickly blur out what’s been weighting on you ever since you left the apartment so dramatically.   
“I know. It’s all right. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” he pulls you closer and gently kisses your forehead.  
“I-I just wanted to make you happy.” you murmur against his jacket, not really sure whether he heard you or not.   
“I know. You tried really hard. I’m up to blame for this quarrel, love. I was angry and I took it out on you.” he admits and pulls away enough so that you can see the genuine regret in his eyes. “Am I forgiven for my behaviour?”  
“Am I forgiven for tossing a vase at your head?” a small smile graces your face, as you can’t help but use the opportunity to add some humour to this otherwise melodramatically unfolding scene.  
His deep laughter comes out slightly muffled due to the unstoppable pitter-patter of the rain against the ground.  
“Your aim is really bad then. I thought you wanted to hit my chest.” the previous tension is nowhere to be found and you chuckle at his remark.  
“My aim is impeccable when I’m not angry.” stating as a matter-of-fact, but not without a humorous note, you wrap your hands around Owen’s middle.  
“As long as I’m not the target, I’d like to see your words proven true.”  
A sudden giggle erupts from your chest and you tug at the male’s waist, indicating him to come closer. Taking the hint, he quickly melts the space between you and one of his hands ends up in your wet hair while the other cups your cheek.  
“Forgiven?” he inquires.  
“And forgotten.” tip-toeing you gently place your lips against his.  
Pulling you even closer, Owen deepens the kiss, enjoying the small moan that vibrates in your throat at the proximity of your bodies. What would have turned into a make-out session under the rain gets cut short by a lighting falling not far away and your followed shriek. Without another word, Shaw tugs you back towards the safety of the flat, keen to make it up to you in any way possible and to successfully distract you from the storm raging outside.


	6. Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is Mr Dark and Dangerous. And you have no doings with the likes of him. Yet when desire gets stronger than fear, you find yourself searching for his embrace and touch, just like an addict looking for his dose.

The second you laid eyes on him that faithful night so many days ago, you knew he was up to no good. That a girl like you has no doings with a man like him. For he was the epitome of dark and dangerous with his tall build, mischievous smirk and warning gleam in those emerald eyes of his.   
You, being the shy little lamb your parents raised you to be, knew that a man like him will bring only turmoil in your pedantically build world. Maybe you should have run as fast and far as your athletic legs would have carried you. But you didn’t – you stayed at the club with your friends, danced and generally had fun, all the meanwhile trying not to steal glimpses at the lodge in the opposite end of the dance floor, where he stood with his subordinates. Maybe you would have survived that night without your innocents getting a serious undermining wasn’t it for him. Mr Dark and Dangerous. Your simple and rather boring life would have proceeded in the same manner until you eventually fell in love with a stable man, gave birth to a horde of children, grew old and died. That’s how you were raised – to believe life should be mild and everything that others think as fun or exciting is diabolical. And you hated yourself for turning into a shallow, colourless creature, just like your parents. You wanted to live; be wild, happy, reckless. Not an average woman. That’s why when you finally got the chance to meet Owen Shaw a few weeks later, you didn’t think twice and approached him just like you approach your friends – open-mindedly, friendly, and a thud bit of shyly, as he was a lot hotter at close than in the shady club.  
‘You should have run. ‘ your religious mother would have said, had she seen you back then. ‘That man’s a plague – he’ll undress you of all your naivety, innocence and purity. He’ll pull you into his dark world and corrupt you. He’ll kill the real you.’  
Thinking of it now, you see that through her eyes, she was right – you no longer are the same girl that flew the nest over a year ago. But it’s not just Owen’s presence that affected you, it was everything – the big city, the people. Shaw just allowed you a peek into a world that stood hidden, lingering under the radar.

Carelessly running a hand through your hair you push the reading glasses higher up your nose before closing the book with a soft sigh. Rethinking old decisions always manages to ruin your mood – that little ‘what if’ or ‘maybe’ never ceases the reawaken the self-conscious part of you that still shows its big head whenever someone corners you. Stealing a glance at your wrist watch you spring to your feet, as the aluminium hands are pointing towards disturbingly big digits, meaning that if you don’t move, you’ll be late.  
Your friends have been pleading with you to leave the small flat and go out with them; they went as far as to hide your note books, which resulted in a quarrel. Eventually they somehow managed to change your mind, yet here you are – about to be late because you got carried away in one of your studies. ‘Again.’ you conclude with a small frown before jumping under the shower, washing away the thoughts of the past that appeared earlier.

*`*`*

As usual the club is crowded, noisy and has that oppressing smell of cigarette smoke, sweat and sex that seems to be a must around here. Involuntarily you intake sharply and the stench enters your lungs, triggering your gag reflex. The overwhelming desire to turn on your heels and run almost makes your short frame tumble over at the collision with a random waitress. ‘It’s going to be a long night.’ chasing away the nausea, you follow your friends as they try to break through the barricade of bodies and reach the table.  
Despite the numerous offers by random strangers to buy you a drink, a few badly masked offers for sex in the bathroom and even a woman directly confronting you about being a lesbian, your mood has bettered since you entered a few hours ago. ‘It may be the shots.’ you think after tipping your head back and with ease swallowing the questionable content of the small glass. Putting in on the table amongst the others, you look around and realise that while your thoughts are not sluggish and your mind in not clouded by an unnatural haze, your senses have sharpened to the point where the blasting music not only seems to be resonating in your ears, but also in your whole being, leaving a troubling sensation behind. A drunken lopsided smirk stretches your face and your head begins to tilt in tack with the music. ‘It’s definitely the shots.’   
A yelp skips past your lips as a hand gently touches your shoulder, sending a wave of fear right to your heart, immediately killing the taunting rhythm of the bass. Looking up, halfway prepared to give the next man who offers you sex an earful about manners and intelligence, when a pair of emerald eyes lock with yours. The reaction of your body is immediate – your pulse quickens, your head clears up and the tingly sensation in your belly appears right on time, tugging along the sudden wetness between your legs. ‘Yup, definitely too much shots.’ Giving Owen your brightest smile and nodding at the vacant seat next to you, with childish glee you notice a taunting smirk gracing his face, his usual and characteristic reserved nature nowhere in sight tonight.  
“I thought you hated clubbing!” he somehow manages to outshout the noise, his deep voice sending chills of pleasure down your body.  
“I do!” you shout back and give him a sheepish smile, “My friends insisted. I had no saying.”  
He smiles at you, having gotten to know that whenever your friends make plans, they usually fail to either inform you on time or give you a saying – they tug you along either ways.   
Right when you are about to say something, a hand taps you on the shoulder and a tall blonde with a rather hazy stare gives you a lustful smile before bending down with the clear intention of kissing you. The only thing that saves you from the disastrous way the things have headed is Owen’s fast reaction as with a single movement he grabs you and pulls you in his lap, away from the preying lips of the drunken woman. Still in shock after the rude and straightforward attitude of yet another stranger, you calm down the second Owen’s hands wrap around your waist and pull you flush against him. The message is clear – you are off the limits. The woman, having taken the hint, pouts and turns around, swaying dangerously on her dagger-like heels before proceeding to the next table where she takes a sit and resumes whatever she had been doing.   
Still situated in the safety of Shaw’s embrace, the sudden dizziness takes you off-guard and you tilt your head sideways, resting it on his shoulder. With your eyes closed in a pitiful attempt to chase away the bugging feeling of being molested, you almost jump out of your skin when Owen tenses up, steadying you against his chest with a vise grip, knocking the air out of your lungs. Looking up with the intention to ask him what’s wrong, you are amazed to see his previously good mood has evaporated and his eyes are locked on something behind you. Barely throwing a glance over your shoulder, you notice two men, tall and clad in what seems like police uniforms, moving around and scanning the crowd, eventually closing the circle around you.  
Owen may have never spoken openly about what he does or where his wealth comes from, but you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to know that what he does is most definitely illegal. Which makes him a wanted guy. And yet here he is – in a public place, risking his life. And for what? ‘For me.’ It will be a lie if you say this doesn’t stroke your ego, because it does. As the warmth in you spreads alongside the dread of him getting recognized, a small plan, plain, but efficient, forms in your mind.   
The officers are now even closer to your table and it’s a matter of seconds before they notice in whose lap you are sitting. Quickly weighting the chances, you release your hair from the grip of the clip, allowing it to fall like a curtain around the two of you and without a glance at the approaching danger, you capture Owen’s lips in a delicate, yet steady kiss, knowing that no one will pay any attention to two lovers who decided to make out in public. Despite the loud music and the shouting voices, you can swear even the passing-by cops can hear the sound of your wild heart, beating against your chest in such a vigorous manner that it threatens to knock out the air straight out of your lungs. Moving one step ahead, Owen pulls you even closer, deepening the kiss, and one of his hands buries in your hair, the curtain now hiding both of you completely from the preying eyes of the crowd.   
After breaking apart, you steal a glance over the male’s shoulder and exhale in relief as you see the police officers exiting the club. The small smile is quick to fade as the realisation of what you just did comes crashing back down at you and not only shame at you straightforward action but also guild for not even warning him take over. In an old and rather childish manner you hide your face with your hands, fearing what Owen may say.   
The rumbling sound that comes from him makes you peek between your fingers in search of what seems to be amusing him in an awful moment like this. As it turns out, that’s you.  
“Do not mock me!” you hiss, having no tolerance for being laughed at, at least not when you just went against your moral codex to save him.  
‘It’s not like it was very hard. Or that you didn’t enjoy it.’ a small voice whispers in the back of your head, but you ignorantly push it away, not ready to admit that there is something happening with you whenever the male comes close. Even now, as you sit in his lap, and seconds after your lips parted, the desire to kiss him once again washes over your still inexperienced senses, making your cheeks acquire a rosy tint.  
Owen’s laughter is a show of good humour and not mockery over your modesty. Against all logic a small smile of your own appears and you shake your head, making the long curls you spend hours making, bounce around your face.  
“I’d never mock someone as innocent as you, dove.” his gallant and mild tone is in sharp contrast with the mischievousness lingering underneath the surface.   
He may not be laughing at you, but the change of his demeanour is evident – it always has been for you. His façade never ceases to be impeccable – he’s calm, yet the feeling of authority never leaves the lines of his strong jaw. However, the second you glimpse at his eyes, you already know it is all just a charade – with ease you manage to pinpoint when he’s angry, pissed, amused or bored. Now, while there’s a small smile on his face, the look in his eyes holds a different meaning. And despite your best attempts to put a name on those emotions, you fail miserably.   
“I should head home.” nodding towards the exit, you make a move to stand up, yet his hands keep you firmly planted to him.  
“And how do you intend to do that?” the raised eyebrow shows humour towards your statement.  
Despite every radio station in town blasting about the upcoming football match taking place today, you seem to have brushed away the notice. And while it was easy to get here, going back is out of the question– due to an unfortunate turn of events, the said event takes place a few blocks away from your small apartment, meaning that not only will it be impossible to go home, as the streets would be packed, but also your poor excuse of soundproof windows will be of no service when the crowd cheers or boos.   
“I had a fair share of sexual attention from strangers today. I’ll take my chances.” you admit and look around, trying to spot your friends in the crowd, in hopes one of them will be willing to offer their couch for the night. Unfortunately no familiar faces come into view, so with a rather annoyed sigh you once again look at the male.  
Only to notice the spark in his eyes. And right then and there you want nothing else but to once again lower your head and capture his lips. ‘Snap out of it, woman!’   
“You seem to be in need of a place to crash.” it’s a statement said with a little too much satisfaction, but either way you nod. “I have a spare room, if that suits you.”  
It’s hard to brush away a tempting offer as this one – a warm bed in a silent apartment, away from a frantic and noisy football pitch, and with a rather pleasant company. But then again… he’s a man, and you are a woman. And you’ll be alone in his home. The recently appeared feeling of uneasiness is rather fleeting, as you realise that while Owen may be playing a dangerous game at his work, in personal manner he shows nothing but kindness and interest like no other man has. No matter where you meet him, he’s always a true gentleman – opening the door for you, pulling back you chair, even holding your shopping bags once after you encountered him in the mall. And, despite having this hidden infatuation over him, which you wholeheartedly hope to be as hidden as you think, it’s hard not to notice how much of his attention gets aimed at you. He went as far as to buy you a present for becoming the student of honour a few months ago. And now this – offering you a place to stay. If he wasn’t carefully studying your face, awaiting a response, you’d have squealed like a school girl who managed to get a date with the hottie of the class. Instead you pretend to be thinking his offer through before with a small nod you accept. ‘It’s not like I have any other options.’ But when you think of it, you are glad there’s nothing to deter you or make you tuck your tail and run. Standing up and fetching your jacket and purse, you follow the male out of the club and into the cool night’s air. The cold whiff sends chills down your back, but you can’t help and appreciate the offered sobering of your senses. By the time your reach his car, the previous jitty feelings have melted away, and now you feel rather tired but completely aware of what’s going on.  
The ride is quick and silent as you are doing anything in your power not to act like a restless cat – being this close to Owen, in his car, heading towards his flat soon starts to make the innocent virgin in you pull her hair out as fear, excitement and straight horror wash over you in cold and hot waves. And the side glances he throws your way every now and again don’t help your case either. Fighting against the nervous desire to run a hand through your hair so to make sure it’s not sticking in all possible directions, you distract yourself by looking out of the window. When the car pulls to a stop near what seems like an abandoned building, the blood drains away from your face as various scenarios, the next more ridiculous than the previous soon have you frozen in the spot, your eyes wide like saucepans and your heart fluttering like the wings of a humming bird. Gulping and trying to put out the panic that threatens to get you hyperventilating, a roar of laughter is what snaps you out of your stupor. Looking at the male, you see him bend over the steering wheeling, his shoulders shaking, as he seems to be finding something in the whole situation highly amusing. Then it clicks – he’s been playing with you; stopping in front of an abandoned house just to see your reaction and have a good laugh. Feeling your blood boil and rush to your face, with a certain effort you keep all the snarky remarks to yourself, your lips staying sealed as you cross your hands under your chest and look away. Shame and furious rage fight inside you, neither prevailing over the other.  
All the way to his real home, Owen has that satisfied small smirk on his face, obviously feeling over the moon after finally getting to prank you. ‘I should have kept my mouth shut! Why did I even say I can’t get pranked? Jeez!’   
Owen’s apartment is huge. Yet the furniture is scarce – there’s enough place to shove a car in his living room and even move it around, with the sofa and the coffee table there. Yet you can’t help but admire the way that with little he has achieved a great result – after taking a better look around, you notice that the room is not that big, the ceiling is just pretty high, giving the illusion of more space. The room he offers you resembles the living area – only the most necessary furniture is present, making it more practical than welcoming. ‘This man has a weird taste for decorating.’ Yet after spending a few more minutes looking around while waiting for him to find you something to wear, since your evening dress is not as comfortable as beautiful, you reach a rather obvious realisation.   
“His home resembles him – mysterious and not giving anything away. Like those Christmas chocolate boxes. I’ll be damned if I don’t open all the windows at once.”   
Only after the words leave your mouth do you register their meaning. You value your personal space and therefore keep your nose out of other people’s business. And yet here you are now –saying out loud that you want to meddle with Owen in a way you aren’t interested even with your friends. The distressing realisation that you seem to be growing quite interested in the male is cut short when a knock echoes in the room.   
“I can offer you just a large T-shirt.” there’s a small apologetic look in his eyes, which you find quite adorable.  
“It’s okay. I’ll work with what I’m given.” smiling, you take the garment away and head to the bathroom, in need of a shower.

*`*`*

No more than an hour later you lie awake in the bed, which against all odds turned out to be quite comfortable and soft, instead of rigid as it looks. The room is bathed in darkness, and only the occasional small noise that comes from down the corridor disturbs the silence. It’s been a while since you found it hard to fall asleep – usually the second your head hits the pillow, you’re out. But not tonight. Lying fully awake, staring at the high ceiling, you have allowed random thoughts to plague your mind, in hopes of falling asleep. Yet once Owen’s face pops out, everything takes a drastic turn; what at first is a way to lull yourself has now turned into a strong doze of black coffee. With what should be a troubling feeling of acquiescence, you let the images of the dark-haired male flash in front of you - his eyes whenever he looks at you, his knowing chuckle, his small smiles which are so rare that can be classified as a mythical sight, his taunting smirk when he’s flirting ever so subtly. And his laugh. Despite tonight’s reason for it, which still makes you see and become red, it was a sound to behold – deep and rich, void of any trouble or affectation. A dreamy sigh rips from your chest as your body seems to react in an unexpected manner. Always when Owen is around you become happier, yet more nervous; feel care-free and protected, yet at the same time jealously kept under watch. You always feel pretty as he never misses a chance to compliment your hair or clothes, noticing each and every small change that has occurred, and not being afraid to point out anything that doesn’t suit you. And most of all, he makes you laugh like no one else. Usually your friends joke around, but most of the time what they say sounds immature or offensive in your ears, so you give a small fake laugh and that’s it. Owen doesn’t bore you with corny or kinky jokes; he just somehow always manages to say something that has you almost crying from laughter. It’s not a single thing - a joke or a story to put a name to it. He just does. As if he has a magical wand or something.   
And then the kiss. At the thought of how your lips touched his in a moment of fear for his safety, and moreover the fact that he pulled you closer rather than push you away, your blood starts to boil, heat radiating from within. Reaching up and tracing your lips with your fingers, the feeling of his lips still lingers like the finest chocolate – a subtle reminder of what you had. And like an addict who had his first doze in a while, you want another one. Now.   
Unknowingly you find yourself in the corridor, your legs carrying you towards the light under the threshold of one of the doors. Trembling from nervousness and a feeling that resembles a carnal need, you lean your head towards the door, wanting to hear what he’s doing. ‘Where’re my manners? Eavesdropping like a thief!!’ deeply appalled by your indecent behaviour, you are about to take a step back and return to your room when a low thud comes from inside. The sound resembles the one when a person falls. In a moment of fear for his health, without knocking, your throw the door open, ready to aid Owen in his sickness. And when he looks at you from his kneeling position on the floor, near a heap of scattered blank paper with a rather confused expression, you gulp and the desire to become lower than the grass takes over.   
“I… I thought you felt sick and fainted. I- I didn’t mean to intrude like that. I’m sorry.” muttering and intensely studying your bare feet, you can’t help the slight trembling of your bottom lip.  
The silence grows tense as Owen seems to be studying you quite intensely, making cold shivers run up and down your spine. ‘I fucked up! He’ll be so mad!!’ biting your bottom lip in order to prevent it from trembling, you finally dare steal a glance towards the male from underneath your eyelashes, halfway expecting to see the familiar expression of anger. Yet he seems amused and a little bit intrigued.  
“And what were you doing preying outside my office?” by his tone you know he’s rather curious than infuriated.  
‘That’s a good question!’ mentally kicking yourself for ever leaving the room, you fumble with the end of the baggy T-shirt, your eyes glued to his rug once again. There’s nothing you can say without making yourself look like either a fool, or a hussy in need of a male’s touch, which is ironic since the furthest you have ever gotten with a man was some making out, after which you felt tainted to such extend that never allowed to be touched again.   
“I know my rug is quite charming but I’d appreciate it if you’d look at me.”   
Throwing a glance his way once again, you find Owen leaning on his desk, the paper collected and stacked in its place, and a small smirk playing on his lips. Blood rushes to your face and you wish for the ground to split open and swallow you. Despite your utter shame for irrupting in his private study like that, you raise your head and meet his eyes with the confidence of a parson who, apart from almost pulling the door off its hinges, did nothing wrong.   
“I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to go to the kitchen in search for some milk. When I saw that you were still awake I decide that’s better to ask you, instead of wandering around your home, opening doors I should better not.” lying through your teeth, you mentally slap yourself for being such an awful person. ‘He took me into his home and what am I doing? Lying in his face shamelessly.’ Yet, on the other hand, it’s not like you can admit your body’s call for his got your tip-toeing all the way here.   
Owen only raises an eyebrow your way, the smirk still playing on his face. Only when his hand goes up and runs through his now messy hair do you realise you’ve been caught red-handed. Even without encountering a mirror, you know you are red even in the roots of your hair.  
“You are a good liar. But not that good.” he crosses his hands over his broad chest, obviously waiting for the truth to spill.   
‘Like hell.’ Before you know it you are beaming at him, and in an eye blink are gone. Maybe it’s quite unwise to run around a dark, unfamiliar apartment in only a T-shirt, but under his gaze something in you snapped and instead of wishing for the ground to swallow you, a game of tag began. Owen’s steps are right behind you, yet with a few sharp turns here and there you manage to slip past his hands and out of his reach, all the meanwhile laughing your heart out.   
Eventually you end up pinned against a wall, with Shaw’s towering frame looming over you and his breath fanning across your face. From what you can make out there’s a smile on his lips as he regains his bearings a lot faster than you.   
“What was that for?” his voice has dropped with octave or two, making it come out a lot huskier.  
Still panting, you can hardly comprehend an answer for that question. And when your eyes suddenly move down his face and stop over his lips, you find it hard to breathe all over again. Inhaling sharply you look away, ashamed of your own behaviour, yet at the same time dying to once again get a taste of his lips.   
As if having read your mind, a mischievous smirk graces Owen’s feature and he leans down. Giving you a second to make your mind, his hot breath gently tickles your parted lips making your brain shut down in favour of your heartbeat. It’s instinct and desire that make you lean forward and gently capture his lips with yours in a delicate, almost shy kiss. ‘Ohmygod! Ohmygod!’ your thoughts quickly get scattered as Owen pushes you against the wall with enough pressure to make your insides turn to jelly, your knees at the verge of buckling.   
Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes holding a new gleam, something you never saw before. When his hand comes to cup your face, you can swear on your mother’s new car that the heat of his skin washes over your senses, making them twitch and tingle, as if ants are crawling up and down under your skin. The next kiss comes unexpected, yet just as gentle, your route of escape always present. Not that you want to run from him, but still the gesture touches you. Wrapping your hands around his neck and pulling him closer, you successfully not only deepen the kiss by allowing access to his searching tongue, but also get a small throaty moan from him. Somewhere along the way, in between the kisses, Owen had hoisted you up, so now your slim legs are wrapped around his middle, pulling him closer to you in a desperate need to feel and devour his warmth and masculinity. What’s more, you can’t help but notice he not even once moves his hands in a manner you may find offensive – they strictly stay around your waist or trace your legs, no sneaking under the T-shirt or groping at your breasts like most men tend to do.   
Parting reluctantly, but in need of air, a small smile finds its way on your slightly swollen lips, the feeling of getting devoured sinking in and unlocking the tingle of anticipation, yet some fear as well due to the lack of any experience whatsoever.   
“If you want to stop, now’s the moment to say so.” he breathes against the skin on your neck, making it prickle.  
A purr vibrates in your chest as he leaves a trail of kisses down the delicate flesh, paying special attention to the places that make you tremble in his arms like a leaf.  
“My schedule for tonight is empty.” running your hands over his shoulders and in his short hair, unconsciously you bite your bottom lip.  
After a few more seconds, Owen moves away enough so to meet your gaze. If you push aside the badly masked desire that swirls in his emerald orbs, you also notice the worry there. He seems tense, his face having that confusion to it, as if he’s not sure whether to proceed or not. Cupping his jaw and relishing in the feeling of pride and joy at the sight of him leaning into your touch, you once again lean down and capture his lips in a delicate, yet pointedly tempting kiss.   
“You should be running away from the devil, dove, not in his arms.” there’s a pained edge in his husky voice once you pull away, and it makes you frown.  
“I’m a grown-up person and I know what I want. And it doesn’t involve running.” it’s your time to place kisses down his jaw and throat, making him groan.  
His hands grip at your hips harder, pinning you even firmer against his hard body, making you moan at the feeling of his muscles under the thin fabric of the T-shirt.   
Yet he still has his doubts – his consciousness seems to be fighting against his desire, and for a sole second you think of backing down and scurrying back into your room, red with shame. ‘Not tonight. No running. ’ capturing his soft lips into a playful kiss, this time it’s you who seeks permission to enter his mouth. And to your utter amazement he grants it. Your soft moan at the strange and new feeling is muffled by his growl as the grip of your hips around his lower half tightens.   
“What do you want from me, Y/N?” despite the hiss, you don’t feel threatened or worried, but rather filled with anticipation.  
‘What is that I want? Do I want that?’ Just looking at him and thinking of all the things he has said and done, you sense the small specks of doubt evaporate. For a first time in a while you have a clear idea of what you want.  
“Take me to your room, Owen.” no sooner have you whispered it against his ear, that he has you on his bed, sprawled on the soft sheets, with only the moon peeking from between the blinds to outline your bodies.  
In a single movement the male has climbed over you, his lips sealed against yours in a small battle for dominance. Soon the previous journey continues as his mouth follows the outline of your jaw, down your throat to your collarbones, where he pulls at the shirt and reveals the top of your breasts. Wherever he goes, he leaves a path of fire in his wake. And the more he plays with you, the more sensitive you get, wriggling underneath him, panting and moaning. Under different circumstances you’d have found it pitiful at how quickly you succumb to his will and turn into a shivering, moaning mess. But right now the only thing you can actually think of is how good it feels when Owen studies each and every dip of your body.   
At some point your T-shirt gets cast aside and your bashful nature kicks in, making you hide your nakedness as much as possible with your hands.   
“Don’t hide yourself, dove.” he purrs against your neck as he once again begins placing small pecks down your delicate flesh, his stubble tickling it.  
Eventually your hands move to the side, allowing the male to see you in your whole nakedness, like your mother brought you in this world, and you can’t help but turn redder than a tomato. His chuckle, and a remark at how ‘cute’ you look when you blush follow, but any further response is prevented the second his hot mouth closes around your nipple, a soft meow skipping past your lips at this foreign feeling.  
It’s a sensual dance between bodies, a connection between soles, even if only for a while. Owen attends to you with such care, devotion and admiration, that there’s no time for you to become any more self-conscious, let alone change your mind. His lips and skilled hands move up and down your body with gentle strokes, teasing those special spots that make you yelp or moan. Somewhere in the back of your mind you wish you were skilled enough, or brave for that matter, to roll your bodies around and appreciate his body as well, relishing in the idea that you can give him pleasure. Yet once his fingers gently enter your wet and throbbing folds, any thought evaporates and your back arches, the feeling of your muscles getting stretched making your toes curl and a low, drawled moan echoes in the room. Any further voicing of your pleasure is muted by his lips, as his fingers set a slow pace, every once in a while rotating or curling in you, your soft hisses making him groan against your skin. The release comes so suddenly, so unexpectedly that by the time you register the building-up pressure, his digits curl inside you, and just like that you snap in a thousand pieces. As a background to the erratic beating of your heart, you can hear Owen’s whispers against your skin, but you can’t understand any of it.  
Once finally back in the present, you feel that the hunger that was supposed to be sated, is not only still present, but has also gotten stronger. Not even for a second stopping his work over your body, Owen notices the tension of your muscles around his fingers, and a ghostly smirk travels over his lips.  
“You still have a chance to save yourself, dove.” he whispers in-between kisses.  
With a scoff you kiss him passionately, wanting nothing more but all those thoughts out of his head. You are the rationally thinking one here; would you have allowed him to touch you, if you didn’t desire it? Definitely no.   
“Don’t chicken out on me.” teasing him, you manage to barely muffle a giggle when he returns the vehement kiss with equal force all the meanwhile wrapping your legs around his middle.  
He’s gentle and slow, not even for a second allowing his needs to overpower his senses, which may lead to you getting hurt. He enters you inch by inch, his muscles tense to the point where you fear they may get ruptured. Yet despites his best attempts to prevent the pain, it comes anyway once the hymen gets torn, making your whole body go rigid and a small hiss to echo in the silence of the room. Owen literally freezes as your nails dig into his biceps, and bends down, placing kisses all over your face, down your neck and back up, all the meanwhile whispering words of reassurance. Despite not being able to repeat what he’s saying, as the words barely get registered in your mind, you soon feel the tension dulling and eventually disappearing, your erratic breathing calming down.   
Shaw senses the ease that washes over you once the pain disappears, but proceeds to kiss his way around your body, not moving his hips even an inch. So taking matters into your own unskilled but needy hands, you tighten your grip around his waist, your legs pulling him closer. His resistance is almost unbreakable, but once you wrap your hands around his neck and capture his lips in a passionate kiss, he eventually starts breaking little by little. At first his hips move slowly, carefully, allowing you to adapt as best as you can to his size. And dear Lord, what a size that is!   
Looking at him from underneath your lashes, you manage to glimpse at his face that’s covered in a thin layer of sweat; his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration and his jaw is clenched tightly. ‘He’s trying so hard not to hurt me!’ the thought sends a warm feeling through you, and despite the fear of further pain, you do what you have read people usually do – raise your hips and meet his trust. Immediately he intakes sharply and his whole body freezes, his muscles becoming as hard as rocks as he seems to be having an inner battle, to which you put an end as soon as you kiss him.  
The new pace holds that cautious approach that probably all men must have towards virgin girls. Yet it’s you who once again decides to break it, your hips going up and meeting his. Your moans mix with his growls, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, gently biting the flesh. Grabbing your leg a little tighter, you feel him pinning you down, an indicator he wishes you to stay passive. ‘Like hell!’ snickering and crushing the smallest specks of uncertainty and fear, you drag your nails from his back, over his shoulder and down his arm, making him shudder.  
“Don’t.” he grits, gently nibbling at your neck, making your breath hitch.  
“Don’t what?”   
“Don’t push me beyond my borders.” he emphasises his words by gripping your thigh a little bit harder, making you moan.  
“I don’t want to push you beyond your borders Owen. I want to shatter them.” whispering against his hair, you feel his whole body stiffening, his breath coming out in small puffs and his hand gripping you even harder.  
“If I snap, I will hurt you.” he warns, his words traveling over your skin, making goosebumps appear.  
“I trust you.”  
“You shouldn’t.”  
“But I do.” with that you put an end to the conversation and push your hips up against his, off-handily disregarding his so called ‘borders’.  
For a second nothing happens and the room gets swallowed by a tense silence. Then Owen moves his hips up and when he comes down, you meet him. Purring like a cat, you arch your back and allow the desire to wash over your senses, delving further into the feeling of euphoria.   
Maintaining this rhythm proves to be harder than expected and soon you find yourself hungry for more. Yet your lover continues his torture, his smirk dancing over your tender skin as he occasionally takes your hard nipples into his hot mouth or teases the skin on your neck, only to hear you hiss or meow. Soon both of you are panting, covered in a thin layer of sweat, yet Owen steadfastly refuses to change the pace, making you act in a rather unusual manner and do stuff you wouldn’t even think of doing under different circumstances. Like bite his shoulder for example. His whole body goes rigid as he seems to be assimilating this small act of violence, and you use the pause to enjoy the taste of his skin as your lips follow the line of his jaw and then down his throat. Once your lips gently glide over his throat, the male shudders visibly, making you smirk victoriously before backing away and looking up in his eyes. Amusement is mixed with lust, yet both are chained by his control. ‘To hell with that!’ something in you bellows and with a single movement you spin your entangled bodies, so that you’re straddling his middle while your lips capture his. Moaning under you, Owen’s grip around your hips tightens as he literally keeps you still, not allowing you to even flinch.  
“Woman, you’ll hurt yourself!” he hisses in your hair as you burry your face in the crook of his neck, hiding your childish pout.  
“I hate being tortured.” you hiss back and sit up, your hair swaying around you. “And I’m not half as breakable as you think!”  
His raised eyebrow and the doubt in his eyes push away your anger, allowing more positive emotions to surface. Kissing him with passion, you grind your hips against his, making both of your moan.  
“Fine.” he finally breaks and effortlessly spins you back around, allowing you to sprawl over the sheets, breathless yet filled with excitement.  
Excitement that grows into pleasure under his thrusts. He still holds himself back to a certain point, but you don’t notice due to the building pressure that has you clawing at his back, your own desire leaving you blind and deaf for the world outside.   
Again it happens unexpectedly – one second you think you are about to bust at the seams, your own skin too narrow for you, and in the second you explode like a grenade and crumble down in small pieces.   
It takes you some time to come round, but when you do, you find yourself curled close to Owen’s chest, who seems to be either asleep or pretty close to that stage. Carefully pushing yourself on your elbows, you place a delicate kiss on his lips. The man gives a low throaty moan and cracks open his eyes. Without a word his hands wrap around your middle and pull you flush against him, deepening the kiss. The only thing left for you to do is relish in the pleasant feeling of his warmth and masculine odour lingering around and over your body, as you feel slumber tugging at your mind. The shadows thicken and just like that the veil of sleep is dropped over you.


	7. Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Owen's birthday and you have a special surprise planned for the night that includes a costume, decent artistic skills and a leather chair. Oh, and a slight teasing. But what's some foreplay without the tingle of sexual frustration?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING: M (includes spanking, language, smut)

The calming essence of herbs, some vanilla candles and the slightest hints of musk set a nice, relaxing and almost languorous atmosphere in the apartment. The lights are dimmed, adding a more romantic yet mysterious touch to it. A proud smile tugs at the corners of your tinted in red lips as you survey the surroundings with the eye of a woman who spend a better part of the day cleaning and rearranging the furniture. Entering the living room, the soft clatter of your high-heels resonates in the silence until the soft rug muffles the noise, allowing the tranquillity to fall back in place once again. The flowers you bought earlier today are standing out like an expensive jewel around a woman’s neck – their soft, yet distinctive smell lingers in the air, making your insides curl with delight. ‘They may have cost more than I was willing to give, but were definitely worth it.’ you muse and give the delicate petals a gentle motherly stroke before turning on your heels and continuing to browse through the other rooms. After you did a three-hour long shopping trip in search of a special piece of clothing, the rest of the day went in tidying the living area you share with Owen. Despite it not being a big space, you were constantly interrupted by your friend’s pestering calls; she wanted to know if you finally tried on the special costume you bought. And each and every time you told her off, yet the curiosity made you leave the mop and enter the bedroom, if only to see if the precious piece of clothing was still safely hanging in the wardrobe. You were eager to finally put it on and mostly see your lover’s reaction to it.  
Stopping in front of the full-sized mirror in the corridor, you inspect your reflexion. Your long hair is falling freely down your back in soft curls and frames your face nicely. Despite the occasion, you opted for little to no make-up – some mascara and a blush. Yet the red lipstick you invested in a few weeks prior was just glaring at you from its place in the make-up bag, so eventually you decided to give it a try. ‘Thank goodness I did!’ you smirk at the reflexion, marvelling at the way the deep red lips form a nice, seductive curve. Then your eyes travel lower, and the small squeal that skips you fills the silence of the still empty apartment. The maid outfit you found fits you like a glove and holds the right amounts of sexiness, decency and provocation. It consists of two pieces- a dress that is off the shoulder with white trim, ending with a black tutu bottom that reaches a few centimetres below your bum, and a nice white minimalistic apron tied around your waist. For a while you pondered whether to fetch a pair of sexy stockings or leave your creamy legs bare, but eventually found a nice pair that added up to the outfit nicely. Unfortunately the last piece, despite being a high-point for such an occasion, were the dagger-like, hell-bound to leave blisters, stilettos that added some needed height to your rather short frame, all the meanwhile reshaping your general appearance. And of course, the must in the French maid outfit is the strange hat which you had great difficulty putting on since your either way untameable hair just didn’t fancy the idea of having anything in it, let alone a strange piece of accessory.   
Blinking seductively at your own reflexion and feeling exhilarated to the point where you want to call Owen and insist on his immediate arrival, instead you glance at the clock hanging from the wall once again. It’s hands show ten, which means that according to the plan you formed with the rest of the gang, a.k.a. the men with which dearest is currently celebrating somewhere, they should be making their excuses to leave and get him to return home. To one very eager to serve and please maid. The small mischievous snicker that leaves your tinted lips gets muffled by the sound of a power engine roaring outside.  
“Speaking of the birthday devil…” you murmur and fix your hair, before scurrying away into the kitchen.  
By the time you pour a glass of whiskey for Owen and add a few ice cubes, the front door gets unlocked.  
“I’m home.” ever since you insisted he’d stop scarring the daylight out of you with his sneaking, Owen makes sure to vociferate his arrival.   
Pushing away your Cheshire grin, you slick the small apron and exit the kitchen, the clatter of your heels making the dark-haired man’s head snap your way.   
For him it is common knowledge hell will freeze over and pigs will fly before you voluntary put on heels. And even then you’d never walk around the apartment as the thought of irritating your feet from early makes you huff and literally shove said shoes in the furthest, darkest corner you can find.   
Holding the small silver tray with his drink and trying your best not to frown at the sensation of your pads getting squashed like bugs in those ridiculous shoes, you give Owen a small curtsey and your most sweet smile.  
“Welcome home, Master.” even your voice comes out sugary, inviting and even tempting.   
The male’s baffled expression after he takes in what you’re wearing quickly changes to one of pleasure, as he seems to be enjoying what meets the eyes. ‘Then what’s to come will definitely be to his liking!’ you mischievously think and hand him the glass filled with the amber liquid. Upon taking it his fingers deliberately touch and linger over yours but you pretend not to notice.   
“Would Master wish for me to prepare a hot tub for him?” the politeness is almost humorous, as usually the term ‘Master’ leaves your lips with a highly sarcastic or pissed off sounding.  
“I’d enjoy that, yes.” despite playing along, it’s obvious Owen’s eyes find it hard to stay focused on a single part of you; his gaze follows the curves of your legs, then ends up on the delicate arch of your neck and the slightly peeking breasts before darting to your seductive red lips, which seem to be calling out for him the most.   
Once again ignoring his obvious ogling, you give another small curtsey before going to the bathroom and begin to fill the huge tub. Usually you’d enjoy one of those alongside him, which most of the time ends up in water getting splashed everywhere due to your passion getting kindled by the warmness. Spacing out for a second, the sound of him approaching snaps you out and a grin finds its way on your face. Thankfully due to you being with your back to him, this small hint stays hidden. So when you ‘innocently’ bend over the tub to grab some of the salts and sprinkle them under the running water, your either ways short skirt hikes up slightly, giving the birthday man a nice view of your bum. One very nicely shaped and currently panty-less bum to be exact. His sharp intake of breath signalises he has indeed been checking you out. Concealing the smirk with a certain amount of self-control, you place the previous polite and submissive look on your face and turn around. Upon meeting Shaw’s intense and already darkened gaze, you know the small game you are playing is indeed to his liking, yet may turn out rather short if you keep on pushing the right buttons so fiercely. It’s been a while since the last time the dark-haired man has had the pleasure of exploring your body or touch it, or even see it, as his work has been stealing him from your arms more often than you’d have enjoyed.   
“I hope Mater would not frown upon the liberty I took into picking up tonight’s scent for his tub?” the arched eyebrow is a challenge rather than a polite asking, despite your best attempt not to step out of your role.   
“I’m sure we’ll figure out a compromise if I’m not pleased.” his words send your insides on fire, as the sole image of him finding a ‘compromise’ leaves a hot trail lingering between your legs.   
With a small curtsey and a barely hidden smile, you near him and offer him a massage while waiting for the bathtub to get filled. He accepts and proceeds to take off his shirt, but your hands over his stop him.  
“Do not bother yourself, Master. Allow me.” and without waiting for a response, you begin to unbutton the garment.  
Deliberately taking your time with this simple task, every once in a while your fingers graze over his heated skin while sneaking glances under your thick eyelashes. Each and every time you find him already looking, his usually calm green eyes now darker and filled with lust. After gently taking off the white shirt off of his shoulders, deliberately tracing the skin ever so lightly with you cool fingers, you take a step back and nod at the near-by chair.  
Having taken a course for a masseur back in the old days when you were barely twenty, your skilful hands move with ease over his tensed muscles, making them relax in no time. Stealing a glance at the bathroom to make sure the tub won’t overflow, you allow your hands to roam from his shoulders down his chest then return, the action so innocent that it could be impelled only by the most devilish of thoughts.   
“Is there something else Master would desire while waiting?” your seductive whisper in his ear makes his whole body flex, a low growl vibrating in the back of his throat.   
Walking around and coming to stand before him your lips gently brush over his before you abruptly pull away and take a reluctant step back. His eyes follow each and every move you make like a predator stalking his pray. Standing before him, with your hands clasped in front of you and a slightly provoking smile playing on your lips, a chill runs down your spine when Owen licks his lips, obviously enjoying the way you shudder. ‘You have no idea how far I can go, pretty boy!’ chuckling mentally, you kneel in front of him and place your hands on his legs, feeling the muscles under the jeans tighten. The smile has grown into a tempting smirk as you tilt your head from side to side, enjoying how he gulps in anticipation of whatever you have stored for him.   
Mimicking his previous action and licking your lips, your hands travel up his toned legs and eventually reach his belt. Unbuckling it without even looking, you crawl nearer, making Owen spread his legs further so that your upper body can lean against his. Deciding you have time to tease him a little bit, you start placing small kisses from his jaw down his body, leaving red marks behind. And while you leave a trail of prints all over his chest, your hands quickly do their job over the buttons of his jeans. It’s a little bit unfair on his behalf that your whole body is working against him, but then again what better present than a horny woman, dressed as a maid, in his feet? Isn’t that every man’s dream?  
Rubbing your body against his crotch, you can sense his heartbeat quickening. With a low groan Owen grabs you by the elbow and lifts you up. Not even managing to voice your protest, in not time you are tossed over his legs. The zipper and buttons of his jeans are pocking your stomach through the thin material, but that becomes irrelevant once his hands trace the back of your leg.   
“What have you been up to the whole day, darling?” the low purring sound of his voice and the may his hand comes to rest over your naked bum quickly ring a bell in your head.  
“Only bad stuff, Master. I couldn’t stop myself.” the guilty tone in your voice successfully masks the excitement of what’s to come.  
“And what do I do with the naughty maids?” only hearing the question makes you womb contract and the slickness between your thighs increases.  
“Punish them?” the light quiver in your voice makes the male gently caress your bum, reassuring you he won’t hurt you.  
“And how do I punish you?” his fingers drum against the tender skin and you barely stop yourself from squealing.   
“You spank them?”   
“Indeed, I do.” whispering against your ear, Owen successfully makes you intake sharply, your heartbeat accelerating.   
A few tense seconds follow, in which you anticipate the collision of his hand with your bum. Instead he continues to stroke it, lifting the skirt higher up your waist. Almost shaking from both excitement and slight tingles of fear, when he finally spanks you, you yelp and jump up. Obviously expecting this small retaliation, one of his hands ends up over the small of your back and applies enough pressure so that you get the hint.   
“Don’t fidget, darling. You brought this upon yourself.” he purrs seductively while gently stroking your slightly pulsating cheek.  
He didn’t hit you hard, he never will as he knows your tolerance for pain is not that high, and so it is mostly due to surprise that you moved. For some reason a part of you didn’t believe he’d actually spank you. Gulping and chasing away any thoughts you glimpse over your shoulder at the male seconds before his hand collides with your rear once again. This time you stay put, yet your back slightly arches, making him growl in warning. The small cycle repeats for a few more seconds until you know that the tub would overflow if you don’t get up. And it won’t be the only thing dripping wet all over the floor as well.  
“M-master! The tub!” you exclaim between pants, as despite any logic him spanking you over his lap turns you on more than you thought possible. “It-it will overflow!”   
For a second he continues to gently stroke the now rosy-coloured flesh of your bum before with a single movement hoist you up, his hands around your waist, helping you stead your wobbly feet in the damn heels. Quickly pulling your skirt down and fixing your hair, you curtsey and turn around, not forgetting to sway your ass seductively while entering the bathroom. Once again bending over the tub to stop the water, with the corner of your eye you see Owen has followed you and is currently admiring his work and the aftermaths of it. For sure your bum has acquired a red tint after his punishment, but apart from that, the moisture between your tights now probably glisters in the dimly lit by the candles room. Straightening your back and spinning around, you catch him draining the remains of his whiskey in a single gulp and leaving the glass in the sink. ‘The innocent maid act is about to fail miserably. So how about the slutty one?’ you wonder and a conspiring smirk forms on your lips as you melt away the distance between you.  
“Shall I help Master get out of his jeans?” your voice has dropped with octave or two, making it come out huskier, more alluring.  
The male only nods, his eyes following each and every moment of your skilled hands. Once again kneeling in his feet you tug the jeans down his legs, not skipping to notice just how excited your spanking has made him. Once free of his jeans, your cool fingers sneak under the band of his boxers and you look up, loving the look on Shaw’s face – he’s driven by lust to the point where if you push slightly harder he’ll grab you like a caveman and toss you in his bed, where he’ll definitely ravish you with such passion so that tomorrow you’ll have to stay in bed and recover. ‘Or the other way around…’ mentally taking note after his bath to offer your skilful mouth to him, you gently pull his boxers down his legs, your eyes staying glued to his.   
Even now, after all the time you have been together and have seen him naked, undressing him results in the faintest blush gracing your cheeks.   
He notices, of course, and his good-humoured laughter stirs something in you. Standing up without stepping to the side results in your body gliding against him, his already hard member getting slightly more friction than usual. Owen’s hiss and the way he grabs the sink for support instead you hair make you purr like a kitten before stepping to the side.  
“Master’s bath is ready.”  
Throwing you a look that makes your womanhood contract he heads for the tub, allowing you a nice view of his behind. ‘What a fine piece of ass.’ you mentally comment, while on the outside the façade of a maid is still on.   
Once fully submerged in the water, Owen’s face relaxes in a blissful expression of tranquillity. ‘Not tonight dearest.’  
“Shall I assist in cleaning Master’s back?” the innocents in these words almost gets ruined by the look in your eyes, yet thankfully the male skips to notice.  
By the time he his hazy gaze lands on you and nods, you have pushed aside anything that may give out your intentions for later. Nearing him with equal steps, you grab the sponge from the rack and pour a generous amount of his shower gel before once again kneeling next to the tub. Dabbing it in the water, while not breaking eye contact, you congratulate yourself on having the best control over your emotions for a first time in a while.   
The task itself to clean his back gives you greater joy than originally expected, as you get to touch him freely, while at the same time humming lowly to yourself. When ready, you splash some of the water and clean him of the foam before standing up with the intention to go to the sink and wash the sponge. Yet Owen’s hand suddenly wraps around your leg, stopping your departure and making you look at him. His eyes still hold that glimmer that sends fire throughout you yet at the same time you see hints of what can only be anticipation at what’s to come. Instead of sharing your plans for tonight’s unfolding, you simply bend down and place a chaste kiss on his cheek, leaving a red mark behind.  
“You are still covered in red, Master. Take time to scrub it off.” his hand simply glides higher under your skirt until he finds your hot centre, now pretty much dripping wet and ready.   
A challenging smirk tugs at his lips, making you want to hiss playfully and finally allow your body to succumb to its most carnal need. It takes all the self-control you can muster to stop yourself from undressing and entering the tub. His soft stroke of your swollen womanhood successfully undermines the resolve to keep the game going; instead a soft moan fills the silence.   
“Master needs to get clean if he wishes his maid to continue serve him. And I’ll be at your service only until midnight.” despite trying to stay unfazed by the way his fingers stoke you, your voice shakes slightly.  
“Is that so? Will your chariot turn into a pumpkin?” sometimes Owen’s acting skills make you wonder whether he’s leading a double life as an actor, he’s that good, and not to mention perceptive.  
How is it even possible to speak in such calm, slightly humorous voice, while your eyes are almost blazing with lust and you’re at the verge of fingering your woman? How does he even manage to formulate a coherent sentence while doing two completely opposing things?   
“No, Master. But your obedient maid will leave the ball and disappear in thin air, never to be found.” the low whisper almost gets muffled by your moan as Owen’s skilful fingers stoke you slightly rougher before one enters your throbbing heat.  
“So the maid will disappear? And who’ll come in her place?” he seems intrigued by the twist of the story if the pumping of his fingers in you is anything to go by.  
Gritting your teeth and fighting the desire to just drop the act and have him inside you already, you take a shaky breath before stepping away from his reach abruptly, a soft whimper skipping past your lips at the lost.  
The growl that erupts from the male is slightly threatening, as he obviously doesn’t fancy being deprived of his plaything. Giving a low curtsey, you allow your emotions to surface on your blushing face for a second; the gleam in your eyes acquires that predatory glaze of a woman who’s up for a whole night long marathon in bed. Furthermore the sinister smirk that stretched your red lips promises that once the obedient maid is gone, something wholly different will surface, something even more to Owen’s liking. By the time you straighten your shoulders and turn around to leave the bathroom, one very horny and impatient male is ready to jump out of the water and pursue you. Sensing his intentions, you stop at the door and slightly turn around, allowing him to see how your eyes have darkened considerably.  
“The Queen is soon to return, Master, so better enjoy your last minutes of relaxation. She’ll be awaiting you once the clock strikes midnight.” with that your turn around and leave, closing the door behind you.

*`*`*

The light in the room is dimmed further as now only four strategically placed candles provide their flickering illumination. Having already torn off the maid outfit from your body and replaced it with sexy lingerie you bought earlier today, with a final glance at the bathroom door you exit the shared bedroom, leaving the door open widely. When it comes to playing games, Owen doesn’t voice any discontent as long as you don’t tease him for too long. Often he even finds it exhilarating to play around, to chase you and eventually claim you against whatever surface comes at hand. Yet tonight things are about to get a thud bit different. Your tease, as delicate as it was, definitely pushed more buttons than expected, and for a second while he was oh-so-skilfully fingering you, the whole scenario you created was about to be shoved aside. ‘But then again, where will the fun in that be?’ musing as you walk confidently towards the male’s office, the holy Land, the forbidden fruit in this big basket of goodies, a little tingle of worry makes you halt for a second.   
Despite having little to no restrictions as to where or when to have you body, or you – his, Owen has always made it exceptionally clear that his office is off the limits – you don’t enter it unless he is there, you don’t stay long, and unless you want an earful from him, you never look through his stuff. Not that you have any desire whatsoever to read his files; yet the problem with tonight’s scheme still proves to be the biggest bump in the road. Not only are you about to enter his private study, but considering what you plan on doing there with him, maybe the act itself of crossing the threshold will get read as a minor offence. ‘He’ll forgive me eventually.’ a playful smirk tugs at your face as you continue walking down the corridor, leaving small ‘crumbs’ behind for him to find– your leggings are tied to the knob of the bathroom door, while the white apron is hanging on the edge of the bedroom door, your dress is sprawled across the corridor in a manner that would suggest it was taken off in a hurry and tossed there on the go. Now, as you stop in front of the wooden door, the thrill of breaking one of Owen’s rules matches the wild desire that’s burning throughout your body, and mostly between your legs. Gulping and breathing in deeply, you push the door open and slip in. The room is bathed in darkness, as earlier today you didn’t dare enter here to leave candles out of fear that your plan may backfire at you and you’d never even reach his office before he’s deep within the warmth of your body. So, in favour of not bumping around in the dark, you took one of the candles with you now. Its soft glow illuminates the way, as you gingerly place it on his desk, its silver container sure to let no wax drip over the expensive piece of furniture. Since the space is big enough, as surprise-surprise, Owen spends a better part of his time planted here, there’s also a huge, comfy looking sofa and an armchair, which will be hosting the culmination of tonight’s games. Licking your lips with anticipation, you throw another glance at the desk, wishing nothing more but to feel its rough texture against your back, or front however it comes, as Owen has his way with you. Which he will, as soon as he realises that you invaded his sacred territory. Snickering like a naughty child, you take off your already either way damp sling tongs and hang then on the handle of the door, so that as soon as Owen is in the corridor and notices the office’s door is ajar, he’ll also see who decided to sneak in. 

He had sensed from the moment he saw you in that sexy suit that things will get heated up tonight. Knowing your desire to play and tease, he had decided from early not to give in to the temptation and instead let you have your way. And all was going perfectly fine until he exited the shared bedroom, following the trail of clothes you left behind, and noticed where exactly you had decided to take refuge. For a second he was pissed to the point where he wanted to grab you by the elbow, toss you over his legs once again and spank you until your bum acquires a nice rose-red hue. Then he noticed you damp panties swinging temptingly from the handle, almost mocking him for his previous thoughts and asking whether he wouldn’t prefer to do something else with said rear. ‘Just this once.’ he promised himself before pushing the door open.  
Owen had patience in an unlimited supply, a trait you had conflicted feelings for since it was damn hard to get him riled up or horny, and that more than often put your rather slacking patience to a test. Now, sitting on the sofa and enjoying your drink, you remind yourself that there’s yet another trait of his you have polar feelings for –the tidiness. The office, against all logical reason for you, is a clear example of a furnished room that looks like no one is using it. That naturally sets you off, as you live by the code that there’s order in chaos, therefore your things are scattered everywhere. Now as you scan the room, feeling your man close by, you are thankful for his little habits – there’s nothing that can get damaged when things become heated up– even the desk is void of any indication that it’s being used, which makes things so much better. A smirk tugs at your lips as soon as you hear the door being pushed open and the following of the characteristically silent steps that under different circumstances you’d have never managed to hear. Taking a last sip of your whiskey, you look over your shoulder and flash the slightly annoyed Owen one of your dazzling smiles.  
“Alas you found me.” purring like a cat, you take notice of his current clothing, or lack of such, and can’t help but lick your lips.   
“I took pleasure in the bath, as requested.” his smug tone implies not so subtly that other things were not that enjoyable.  
Ignoring the bait, you smirk and stand up carefully, allowing him a nice view of your behind. Apart from the black lace bra you have on, a match with the panties that are currently hooked around his middle finger, the only other thing adding texture to your back is the tattoo of a wolf with its teeth bared in a snarl and a threatening, yet tempting look in its eyes. You know for sure that Owen, despite not being an ink person, loves the way you have your inner beast drawn on your skin like a warning label – better for him, as it keeps unwanted attention away, leaving your body for him to play with.   
“I hope you have rested well, dearest, as I have a few things planned for you as well.” melting the distance away, you don’t forget to sway your hips as you go, knowing it will drive him crazy. And indeed, the irritation in his dark eyes now shifts to lust, and he takes the final step that separates your bodies, finally pinning you to him. His hard muscles nicely glide over your soft body, making a perfect fit. And thankfully to Satan’s minions, or high-heels as they’re called, you easily reach his eyelevel. ‘At last.’   
“You just love throwing my orders back in my face, don’t you?” he growls against your neck, as his lips leave a hot trail behind.  
“No. I enjoy testing your boundaries and smashing the walls of your patience.”   
As a reply to your knowing mouth, he bites the juncture of your neck playfully and at the same time spanks your bum. Hissing and barely supressing a throaty moan, you press yourself harder against him and your nails, nicely done and polished, leave a small trail down his back.   
“You push me beyond reason, woman.” he hisses and his hand gropes your bum, making you yelp, before shamelessly rubbing yourself against his hard member.  
“And you enjoy each and every time I get under your skin.” stating the obvious, you finally allow your hands to tangle in his short hair, loving the way he groans in approval. “Come on, don’t delay my play.”  
Purring, you take the soft part of his ear in your mouth and bite it playfully, eliciting a groan. When his other hand ends over your throbbing heat and his mouth conquers yours seconds later you barely muffle a moan. It’s pointless to battle him for dominance, but you do it either way, loving his feral growls whenever you bite or tease him. Pulling away, panting and moaning, as the hand between your thighs does some wonderful things, it takes great self-control from your part, God knows for which time today, not to toss the plan out of the window and just allow him to have you.   
“C’mon. You’ll enjoy it, I promise.” purring and moving away, you ignore the way your juices are glistering in the soft light of the candle and just how shamelessly Owen enjoys following that twinkle.   
The armchair has that dominant aura around it, despite being a simple piece of furniture like all the rest. It never pleased you that something made of wood and leather manages to evoke a reaction that even human beings can’t– like the irrational desire to snarl its way and claim territory. Now, as you push Owen down in it, you hate the chair even more for how well it fits its master. ‘Keep your head in the game, woman!’ mentally slapping yourself out of the glaring contest with an inanimate object you come to stand between Shaw’s legs, enjoying the view from above – all hard muscles and masculinity. The smirk that tugs at the corners of your mouth makes him raise an eyebrow your way, urging you to proceed with whatever you have in mind. Licking your lips and bending down, with your hand on his legs for support, you capture his lips in another passionate kiss. His immediate reaction makes you gleam with pride and satisfaction as it never ceases to amaze you that his eagerness to please you rivals yours. Pulling away and leaning back enough so that your eyes can meet, you suppress a shudder at the predator glimmer in his eyes.  
“For now you’ll have to keep your hands there,” gently placing said limbs on the armrests, you punctuate your words by applying slight pressure, “No touching me, no pulling away, nothing. Can you do that?”  
The tight line of his lips shouts ‘Hell no’ but the lust in his eyes growls the opposite. Still, insisting on a vocal answer, you raise an eyebrow at him, challenging him to make up his mind.   
“We can end the game, champ, and you can throw me over your shoulder like a caveman and give it to me rough against the wall. I won’t fight you. Or…” pausing for a second so that you can place a small kiss on his neck and then down his chest, you can’t skip to notice how his whole body stiffens from anticipation. “Or for once you can allow me to have my way with you. After all this is your birthday, so it’s you who should be pampered, not me.”   
Stopping right over his heart, you sense the rapid beat of the muscle, as it smacks mercilessly against his ribcage, the excitement most probably fuelling his otherwise hot blood.   
“What do you say, champ? Are you willing to be tamed?”   
His hesitation is fleeting, as his mind was made the second he entered the office with your panties in his hand. He’d allow it, just this once. And you’d definitely make him want to do it again.   
“And what exactly do you plan to do?” indirectly applying agreement, his deep husky voice sends jolts of blissful pleasure to your throbbing womanhood, which by now is dripping wet.   
“Hmm.” the vibration over his skin makes his hands take a better hold over the armrests, reluctantly reminding himself that he agreed not to touch you. Dear God, he knew he’d regret that as soon as you begin whatever you have prepared for tonight’s fiasco.  
Continuing your small adventure down his body, your words ghost over his skin, sealing the promise and making him become even harder.  
“First, I’ll suck you so hard that you won’t know what to do with yourself. You’ll have to grasp the armrests because of the insanely pleasurable release I am going to give you.”  
Sounding both as a thread and a promise, Owen growls as his throbbing member becomes almost painfully erect due to your words. You never talk dirty, hell, you rarely speak at all when you two are alone since you prefer moaning or shouting his name, whichever happens to come first. So having that little mouth of yours whisper such words naturally leaves him wondering whether he’ll be able to keep his promise and not simply grab you and fuck you against the floor before you even get the chance to touch him.   
“Then, after you manage to regain your breath, I intent to enjoy myself against that pedantically cleaned desk of yours. You may assist me by fucking me hard, or you can watch as I play around for a while. Either way you’ll be ending up in me wherever you want it or not.”  
By the time you whisper the last part you notice how his body has grown tenser and his breath is coming out in short pants. Finally kneeling in his feet, with your hands on his thighs, you eye him with unmasked lust, as the desire has escalated to such empyreans that it’s pointless to hide it. Instead, you admire the effect your words, simply whispered syllables, have over him and allow your imagination to go wild with how he’ll look once you begin your small torture.   
The only indication he gives you of his temporary submission is the narrowing of his eyes, as the gesture ushers you to keep on going. It’s not like you’d have left him hanging – he’s so hard that it probably hurts, and let’s not mention that if, by some whim, you turn on your ridiculously high heels and stride off, he’ll find you and will make you regret your decision. Countless times.   
Beginning gently, you place a delicate kiss on the side of his length while your left hand gently stokes the base. Slowly moving up, with your lips parting once in a while and allowing your tongue to play around, your eyes monitor Owen’s reaction. True to your prediction, he’s already far gone to even play smug, so his head is thrown slightly back, his hands are gripping the armrests and his chest heaves faster than before. Liking what you see and deciding against teasing him any further, you finally take the tip of his length in your mouth and suck lightly, making the male hiss. Returning to placing wet kisses down the other side, your hand sets a pace that contrast with the one of your mouth – your pumps are fast and rough, with periodic stops in which only your lips and tongue tease. Taking him in your mouth again, inch by inch, with your hand moving almost in sync with your heartbeat, you take advantage of your position; your free hand lazily claws at thigh, making the male shudder. Halfway in your mouth, you suck once again, this time slightly harder, to which Owen responds immediately with a low, throaty moan. Liking the sound and encouraging the usually silent male for more, you purr. The vibrations that suddenly erupt around his highly sensitive and irritatingly painful member has Shaw grunting, his hands gripping the expensive leather even harder as he literally trips on the edges of his sanity. When you pull away, about to repeat the cycle, he growls in warning, as he is too far gone to enjoy playing. Unfortunately for him, you fancy his rather helpless state far too much. ‘But I’m not that much of a bitch now, am I?’   
Your tongue darts out and gives the hard member a slow, sensual lick, before reaching the tip, where it stays a second longer, doing lazy circles end licking away the pre-cum. Owen’s groans turn into pants as he’s short of breath already. Without a warning you take him in your mouth, the whole of him, and suck hard. The throaty moan and the squeak the leather gives as Owen’s nails dig into it with wild ferocity echo in the silent room before you pull away from him with a soft popping sound. His curse makes your hand get a firmer grip around his shaft and give it a few hard pumps, making his hips buckle in desperate need to reach his climax.   
“Not so soon, baby.” whispering against the skin right below his navel, a highly sensitive place in moments like this, you place a few kisses over his V-lines, marvelling at how his stomach muscles flex and stiff after each and every touch. “I want you trembling underneath me Owen, at the verge of snapping. I want you covered in sweat, panting, desperate for release.”   
Kissing his abs and gently licking the sheer layer of sweat, you enjoy the salty taste in your mouth.   
“Only when your skin is too tight for you, your throat is soar and you can barely coherent a sentence, only then will you come.”  
The mischievous gleam in your eyes collides with the wild lust in his. He’ll revolt, trash around or even grab you and simply enter you while sitting there, and he won’t even bother with asking. Yet the firm grip of your hand around his throbbing member, the fast pumps that tent to apply more pressure wherever they reach the base, as if wanting to milk him dry, have the otherwise poker-faced genius in the hands and mouth of a woman that will gladly send him to hell and back, just as a payback for all the times he teased her in the past, bathing in her cringles, moans, whines, how she’d wriggle and toss, anxious for her release. Yes, he was a dick for doing it, but hell, not even once did he regret it. Until now.   
“I want to hear you, champ. I want to hear you moan, hiss, growl. To hear you scream my name when I finally make you come so hard, you’ll be seeing stars.”  
With certainty he knows that by the time you are done, he’ll be dead. And if he actually lives to resurface after the orgasm, he’ll shatter you against whatever surface you want, hell, he’ll even fuck you on the balcony for everyone to see and hear if you wish. The desk be damned!   
Again without any warning you take him deep into your mouth, savouring his taste, the way he literally trembles around you, and the oh-so-deliciously hard texture. This time when you move up, you do not release him completely. Instead, you dive back down, taking him in deeper, your hand never ceasing its fast and merciless pumps. It’s only when your teeth gently graze his shaft when Owen shudders away the last remains of his composure – the low moan, that may have been a howl as well, makes your womanhood throb painfully as your juices are now trickling down your thighs. Your own moan gets suffocated in the back of your throat, making the male jerk his hips up, obviously now desperate for release. The punishment is immediate, as your nails dig into his legs, applying enough pressure to pin him down. There’s a soft whimper that wobbles from him, almost passing by unnoticed your keen ears. Running your hands over the irritated skin, one returns to its previous place around the base of his manhood, while the other, which up until now pretty much stayed passive, now ends up gently kneading his sack. As soon as you begin moving again, in complete sync with your hands, Shaw throws his head back, no longer carrying what sounds leave his mouth.   
You are no longer gentle – your lips tighten around his shaft, as does the hand that pumps him hard and fast whenever you move up. Definitely giving him more than he can take, your tongue and teeth take turns in marvelling at his impressive length. And while your sensual licks sooth the skin, your teeth, despite not even once applying any pressure over the delicate flesh, making him shudder and thrash around until eventually his moans fill your ears. ‘What a delightful sound.’ you mentally notice, before your whole attention returns to making your man shatter in your arms.  
The leather of the armchair gives a rather worrying tearing sound once you suck hard on Owen’s member, making him arch his back and hiss like an enraged snake.   
“Fuck, baby, yes! Just like that!! Yes! Suck me hard! God, yes!!” his encouragement is accompanied by many rather animalistic sounds that have you almost shaking with the need to have him buried to the hilt in you.   
Your throaty moans, the kneading of his heavy sack and the harsh sucks almost make him lose consciousness – he’s so damn close that it hurts! For a whole second the horror of you stopping makes his breath hitch, as you don’t move a muscle, and he knows that if you do, if you pull away, he’ll snap. Damn be the promises, damn be everyone if he doesn’t grab you by the hair, toss you over that desk you seem to be obsessing about and fuck your brains out.   
Instead of pulling completely away, you simply stop to marvel at him – his body is glistering from the sweat, his muckles are taut like steal wires threating to snap any moment, and his head is tossed slightly back. You’d have smirked at your accomplishment, even patted yourself on the shoulder, but one look at his hooded eyes has you finally pushing him into the final stages of lust. Now your movements are erratic, not so well timed, and quite harsh. Your head bobs up and down, taking him completely before pulling away, allowing your hand to give him a few hard stokes before once again taking him in. Your lips are merciless with their iron hold, your hands find no resolute in his shaking form. The vigorous desire that runs like lava in your veins, the pulsation in your swollen from need vagina, and your man’s low throaty moans, muttered curses and hisses all make you snap – without touching, without even stroking yourself. Once he begins to shudder and abruptly goes rigid, you know he’s ready. Sucking hard and sharp, with your hands working their magic, Owen comes in your mouth with a sound that resembles a howl, but holds the tingle of a moan. Swallowing his cum all the meanwhile shuddering after your own unexpected orgasm, you barely register that the floor will be needing a serious mopping first thing tomorrow morning.   
Licking your lips and mentally cursing your shaky legs, your crawl your way up his body, allowing your hard nipples to tease his skin, while your mouth, now free of any lipstick, leaves a trail of kisses up his chest, over his neck where you teasingly nibble at the skin, and eventually over his jaw. His pants and the way he seems to be almost completely out make you whine – if he falls asleep now, you’ll be left horny.   
“Champ, don’t leave me.” you purr in his ear before somehow successfully straddling his hips and rubbing your wet centre against his still surprisingly hard member. “I’m dripping wet, dearest. And I’m so horny, so needy for you in me.” stroking his chest with one hand and using the other to balance yourself, with satisfaction you sense his hands snaking over your hips and around your waist. “That’s it, champ. Don’t fall asleep now. Who’ll fuck me then? Hm?” nibbling at his earlobe, Owen gives a low groan, his hands gripping your waist. “Should I call someone? Or you’d prefer watching me fuck myself on your desk? Is that what’s you’d want, champ? Me, lying on my back on your hard desk, with my legs spread wide and my fingers pumping in and out of my pussy, imagining it was you? Me, moaning your name?”   
His low, possessive growl, despite not deprived of approval for the idea, holds a dangerous tune to it. Glad his possessive nature surfaces even when his mind seems to be still scattered elsewhere, you continue talking dirty to him, all the meanwhile rubbing your dripping sex against his, noting he’s getting hard all over again.  
“I’m so slick, champ, so wet and ready. Don’t make me take advantage of you.” a low grumble, probably a laugh, comes as a response and you smirk devilishly. “Will you like that? Me, riding you hard and fast, while you can’t even say your name? Or should I leave you to sleep here while I go fetch someone who’s rejuvenated and will fuck me like he hates me?”  
The growl, this time quite warning and the fact that he finally looks at you make you bite your lip and carefully slip the tip of his member between your folds. True to what you said, you are so wet that he enters you with ease. Moaning against his neck while swaying your hips, you know Owen will rather shoot himself in the leg rather than let another man near you, let alone fuck you. That’s his right alone, and no one in their rightful mind can ever challenge him on it.   
“Come on, champ. I want you to fuck me now. Hard. Against that desk. I want to feel you in me up to the hilt, balls deep. I want to feel sour tomorrow, not be able to speak or walk. ”  
And like that he’s up, ready to fuck and pleasure you. With a swift movement he hoist you up and with a few strides, all the meanwhile raping your mouth, he nears the desk, where he lays you down, his body pressing down on you hard.   
“Tell me.” he rasps against your skin as one of his hands ends up between your spread legs, two of his fingers immediately slipping in you. “Fuck, you’re so hot. And wet. You are ready to be fucked, baby.”  
The huskiness in his voice does strange things to you – moaning and arching your back, his teeth on your juncture almost make you come.   
“Tell me how you want it, baby. I want to hear that dirty mouth of yours say it.” his skilful fingers, God bless and curse them, move in and out of you with incredible speed, only stopping to curl every once in a while, eliciting a moan from you.  
“Fuck me, champ. Hard and fast. I want you so deep that I won’t be able to talk.” rasping out, that’s the last coherent sentence you manage to put together.  
Pretty soon you begin to tremble at the building orgasm, as Owen’s pumping figures get assistance not only by his mouth that’s attacking your sensitive nipples, but from his thumb that strokes that bulge of nerves, sending jots of pleasure throughout your body. Moaning, panting and mumbled curses fill the room as surely you near your second orgasm for the night. So, naturally, when his fingers pull away, the curse that leaves your swollen and bruised lips whips at the air around you.  
Before even managing to say a few things to the dark-haired male, his mouth is over your dripping sex, and with a single stoke his tongue enters you. In mere minutes, under the merciless magic of this skilled muscle, you are trashing under Owen at the verge of tears, as the pleasure is too much to bear. When he stops again, you yell your frustration and in a moment of rage drag your nails across the skin on his back, most definitely breaking it.  
“Fuck!” he curses and grabs your ankles, pulling you towards the edge of the desk.   
Placing your legs on his broad shoulders, he bends down so that his shaft teases you enough to draw a hiss. Nibbling at the skin of your neck, his words ghost over the skin, sending shivers up and down your body.  
“Now I’m gonna fuck you, love. Hard and fast. Deeper than ever before. And I swear to God, I won’t stop until you are shaking under me. You’ll be hoarse from shouting my name. You hear me? I want to hear you.” emphasising his words, he slightly enters you, enough to make you moan. “You understood, love?”  
“Yes.” rasping out, you barely manage to breathe in when he enters you in a single sharp, deep and delightfully stretching thrust.  
This angle provides deeper penetration, allowing that special place in you to get extra attention. Over and over again. Like you said previously, Owen fucks you like he hates you – with vehemence, lust and maybe a small amount of annoyance at having your way with him despite his best attempts to resist. Pumping in and out and stretching your walls, you moan and pant, feeling utterly and uncontrollably possessed by a single need, the need to come, making you cling to the male as if your life depends on it.   
Unexpectedly he pulls out of you and places distance between your bodies. Another curse leaves your lips and you drag your nails down his chest, making him hiss in pain. Yet, in favour of keeping his skin on, he grabs you by the waist, makes you step on the ground turns you around and bends you over the desk. Snarling at his act, pretty pissed with the way he seems to be playing with you after you have been so considerate towards him, you make a move to turn around and slap him. AS if having read your intentions, he acts first and his hand collides with your rear so unexpectedly that you yelp and moan, the stinging pain making your walls clench in despair.   
“Lie down and grab tight, love.” he orders as his hand stokes your dripping sex.  
Excited, and just the thud bit worried as to what he has in mind, you bend over the desk and grab it by the edge. Its rough texture scratches your sensitive skin, irritating it to the point where you’re not sure whether to pull away or rub yourself harder. ‘I probably need help.’ in the back of your mind a small voice urges you on that behalf, but it quickly disappears as Shaw enters you slowly.  
Providing a new angle, he sets his fast and merciless pace all over again, pumping in and out of you with inhuman speed. Soon you begin to shake and contract, your skin gets tight and the sensation that you’re about to burst out of your skin makes throw your head back. Sensing your approaching climax, Owen grabs a fistful of your hair, the bastard must have wanted to do that the whole night!, and tugs roughly, making you arch you back further, while he still fucks you hard.   
“I want to hear you shout my name, love.” his husky whisper makes you bite your lip, as the feeling of it all being too much doesn’t allow you to provide any vocal response.  
Yet not even a minute later your yell cuts through the air like a dagger, Owen’s name on your lips, as your climax hits you hard and almost knocks you unconscious. Not so gracefully flapping back down on the desk, you let a funny sound, a mixture of satisfied giggle and a moan skip past your lips, as finally that itch in you disappears.  
“Content?” the low purr against your shoulder makes you hum.  
“Beyond that, champ.” true to his promise, your voice seems to have grown rather hoarse, which means tomorrow you’ll be having a sore throat, the least.   
Kissing your shoulder and pulling away, your man helps you get up and turns you around. It’s some kind of miracle that he’s still able to stand on his feet, but you brush that thought away. His stamina and endurance are legendary, so they should not surprise you. Nested between your legs, you pull him in for a sensual kiss, before placing your forehead against his, relishing in his presence, scent and warmth.  
“Did I wish you a happy birthday, champ?” muttering lowly, you rub your nose against his and wrap your hands around his neck.   
“I believe you didn’t.” his smug grin, if it can be trusted, is a sign that despite it already being after midnight and technically not his birthday any more, he is keen to have another round.   
Your laugh echoes in the room and you shake your head at his unbelievable libido. Either way you pull him in for another kiss and wrap your legs firmer against his middle, urging him to show you what he’s got.   
And he does.  
Repeatedly.  
By the time you two fall asleep, the neighbours, if not being aware, now know his name.


	8. Outlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chain of events, some more significant than others, leads to a hot clashing of souls, leaving the need for an outlet on both you and Owen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you can forgive me for the delay of an update. And for that it's so long.... And for the mistakes since I'm editing it last minute before jumping on a plane....  
> Either way, enjoy and feel free to share what you think! I live to read your comments!!

‘Note to self: Never, ever, under no circumstances, be it emergency or laziness, am I to call Owen and ask of him to fetch my female supplies again. Unless I want to use pads the size of a Chihuahua for five days straight that is.’ mentally scolding yourself for forgetting to check what date it was, the image of the huge pads laid before you reappears in the back of your mind. Those things were humongous. And while they do the job just fine, how is it expected of you to function properly throughout the day when you feel like you’re wearing a freaking diaper!!!  
With a sigh you rearrange your jeans for a God knows which time in the span of half an hour and try your best to concentrate on what the CEO in the other end of the table is babbling about. Even if it wasn’t for the pulsation in your lower regions and the numbness there, and the headache was caused by merely overworking, and your back didn’t feel like a wretched century-old hanger, you’d still find whatever’s leaving Drew-the-dickhead’s mouth a complete rumble of bullshit. Delicately tugging at your jeans is hopes of making the discomfort caused by the pad to subside, you fail to notice the sudden eerie silence that is chocking the air out of the conference room.  
“Y/N, do you have something to add?” Drew’s nasal voice miraculously, as usual, manages to trigger your gag reflex just in time to stop the snide remark you’d have made.  
“No, I believe not, Mr Hopper.” successfully you push your professional voice over the one that usually people label at ‘the bitch has been woken and will chop heads with her tongue’.  
Knowing that Drew is a dick who quite unsuccessfully was trying to hop into your pants until recently when you kicked him in the nuts, you should have most probably been paying closer attention to what was leaving that questionable mouth of his. Yet how could you, as your vagina suddenly decided to have suicidal thoughts, all the meanwhile leaving the sensation of a waterfall streaming out of you? Who could function properly in this environment? You can’t, that’s for sure. And when dickless’ victorious smirk grows into a pitiful lopsided smile, you know you fucked up big time.  
“Have we been boring you, Miss Y/L/N? Is this above your professional qualification?”  
‘Being condemned to listen to your whatnots all day is shooting way beyond my qualification, you jackoff!!’ fuming mentally, on the outside you keep the cool air of composure, a slightly raised eyebrow challenging him to dare and toss something like that at you again. Drew may be many things, beginning with self-absorbed and ending with malicious, but he’s not stupid; you are the best designer in the area that can and will put up with his daily dose of ‘look at me, I’m so great’ crap. He chased away 11 candidates before you came and put some order in the mess he calls a company. Yet here he is, challenging your capacity of holding your tongue, knowing that the only reason he’ll have to get under your skin and molest you will be if you open your mouth right now and speak your mind. ‘I’m bleeding like I’ve been shot, my stomach is bloated and I can swear Satan is trying to shove himself into my head. I think I have the right to be a bitch!’ those are all good enough reasons, but they are definitely not worth losing the job you worked your ass off for. So instead of telling him to go fuck himself or better yet – pay someone to fuck him as you can bet money that under those pedantically ironed trousers there’s a vagina, explaining the lack of balls and a strong backbone, you simply lay back into the soft chair and give him a slightly fake smile.  
“Anyway.” the Vice Manager pipes up, a man in his early forties, as he is aware of the legendary ‘brushings’ between you and the CEO. “Let’s proceed with the agenda. Laura, how’s the project going?”  
Whatever came out of Laura’s mouth, and the people after her for that matter, stays unheard by you, as the sole thing that fully occupies your attention right now, apart from the need to curse at the sky for having the misfortune to be born a woman, is chocolate. Lots of it. And Owen’s presence. Preferably his naked one, but you can cope if he wears a pair of shorts as well.  
Shaking yourself from those distracting thoughts that do no favour to your already throbbing and obviously confused body, you try to listen more to what’s being said. Unfortunately the effort is fruitless as a sharp, whip like pain cuts right through your middle, making you gasp lowly and pull your legs closer to your body in a desperate attempt to shoo it away. The temptation to either pull your legs flush against your chest or start rocking on the chair is almost as strong as the one to call a cab and go home where you can wail like a wounded seal until Owen returns in a few days and makes you feel better. Eventually you choose a better half of the first option – stay in the room, yet with your legs uncharacteristically pulled to your body. ‘I’ll grow wings and fly to heaven before giving dickless the chance to have something to rub in my face.’ the desire to not let yourself falter is remarkably stronger, compared to the one of going home. For now, that is.

*`*`* 

It’s day three and despite being finally free from the first-wave symptoms of your menstrual discomfort, your shortly cut temper is reaching remarkable heights with each passing day. It feels like everyone has conspired against you – even the copy machine that chews on the paper as if it’s a freaking gum. It’s already way past lunch and the sole desire to go home and curl into a ball is what keeps you going along with your duties – the faster you do them, the sooner you can go home. Yet with the copy machine bitching around, the boss being a bigger dick than usual and a huge pile of papers waiting on your desk to be approved, the chances of leaving any time soon are slimmer than your patience these days.  
Leaning against the wall with your eyes closed, you silently pray to the god of copy machines that the old hag Rachel will finally do her damn job and provide you with twenty beautiful and, if possible, identical copies of the now finished project you had been sweating your ass off for some time. When yet another chocking sound and a peep follow, you growl and in a fit of rage give the centuries-old box of plastic a hard kick, making it groan and then shut down. If the clang of something falling after your foot collided with the side of it didn’t drag attention, the following wail of frustration and the long line of cursing definitely did the job at scaring the daylight out of the employees that are still present.  
“Why are you molesting old Rach again, Y/N? This is the fifth time in less than four days. With this rate, you’ll have her broken down into components by the end of the week.” Sam, the new always polite and smiling secretary is the one that dares to near your, a cup of steaming hot chocolate in her hand.  
Handing it over with a sympathetic smile, she shoos you away, claiming that in a few minutes you’ll have your precious copies. Gladly taking the offered freedom from Rachel’s rattling and chocking presence, you skirt away, taking a few generous sips of the godly liquid. ‘It’s so good when simple things like this can ease me a little bit. Small stuff really don’t get enough credit!’ humming to yourself as you stride back to your office, the buzzing sound of the phone snaps you out of your now almost mechanical movements. Not even sparing a glance at the flashing ID, you answer with your usual professional tone.  
“Y/L/N, speaking. What’s the urgency?” pushing the door open with your elbow, you finally confine yourself behind the safety of the four walls the office provides.  
“One empty house and a disturbingly cold bed will be it.” the familiar husky voice from the other end of the line immediately rejuvenates you, a smile finding its way on your face.  
“That’s not an emergency. It’s me being a busy woman with anger issues who can barely fit herself into a schedule.”  
“You know I hate coming back and finding you overworking yourself, Y/N.” there’s a tingle of scold in Owen’s otherwise slightly distracted voice.  
Taking a sit behind your desk, you knit your eyebrows in a frown.  
“Said the man who just came back from a business trip and still has his head buried in paperwork.”  
His low chuckle has your insides tingling. Just hearing Owen’s voice makes you completely forget about the shitty few days you had, the backache, dickless, and even Rachel.  
“I was bored.” he states rather than defend himself, and if you strain your ears you can hear the squiggle of his pen.  
“Well, I won’t be home for a while. There’s a humongous pile of paperwork waiting my last-minute approval, a boss who’s breathing down my neck and a newbie who finds it hard to tell apart an ellipse from a circle.”  
Owen simply snorts, having gotten in terms with your flexible schedule – one second you can be in bed with him and in the next you’d be rushing to the other end of the city, in search of something extremely crucial.  
“Do you want me to come over and pick you up?” it may sound as an offer, but you know that unless you get home in an hour, he’ll be rushing in here, all manly and dominant, and most probably drag you out from under the mountain of flying paper.  
“It will take a while, Owen. You may as well go to rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” it’s a futile attempt to try and persuade him not to barge in here, demanding you leave with him, but it’s a hope to cling to.  
“You have a hour.” with that he hangs up.  
‘Not that much of a hope now, is it?’ rolling your eyes at the clear sign of dominance, you begin sorting the paper.

It’s almost an hour later and you are submerged into yet another endless pile of paper when a brief knock comes from the door. Before you even get the chance to answer, Drew perches in, all high and mighty, and you barely stop yourself from wincing out loud.  
“I see you are still lagging behind schedule, Y/N.” it’s a snide remark that aims to set you off, which isn’t half as difficult as usual since your emotional state is currently sinking.  
“I’m doing the best I can.” your voice stays nonchalant even when something in you starts to crack worryingly.  
You hate it when day three comes – pain and hellfire, you’ll have it for five days straight if the embarrassment of being an emotional wreck gets transferred to someone else. Generally it’s nearly impossible for your co-workers to get under your skin – having lived with two older brothers who made it their daily chore to turn your life into a living hell and now sharing a space with Owen, who tends to bitch around whenever something has gone terribly bad, have all taught you how to grow a thick skin and let things pass you by like wind. Unfortunately this self-defence comes crumbling down as soon as the five days of bloodshed come.  
Right now your emotions are tripping between ‘cry your eyes out’ or ‘gauge this dick’s eyeballs out of his sockets and feed them to his evil cat’.  
“It’s really sad how the younger workers manage to outwork you, Y/N. You know, I had great hopes when you started here – you were filled with life, motivation. You were unbreakable. And look what you have turned into now. A pitiful excuse of your former self.” it’s like he’s picking at an old wound, making it reopen and bleed.  
“If you don’t mind, Mr Hopper, I have a lot of work to do and it’s already quite late.” dismissing him with the same neutral voice, you can pin-point the exact moment he’ll burst around the seams, as his face quickly acquires that horrendous red tint, veins pop out all over his neck and he literally starts to pant like an enraged bull. You’d have laughed under different circumstances, or at least had the decency to calm him down. Instead you simply stare at him with viper-like eyes, using the last drops of your resolve not to let the tears come streaming down your face.  
The result comes into the form of a hard slap across the face. Your head snaps to the side with a painful crack, the struck cheek burning viciously. By the time you raise your hand up and touch the irritated flesh, your eyes are filled with tears and the cold resolve to make him pay being the only border left. You’d have lunged forward, nails ready to peel skin off, and feet to kick him in the none-existed dick, when the door bursts open, the wood smashing against the wall with crashing thud. Snapping your head that way, almost expecting a left behind employee to come to the rescue, the image of the man clad in dark clothes makes your breath hitch and your heart misses a beat. The usual calm and authoritative air around Owen is now clogged with the oppressing feeling of anger and cold fury as his penetrating eyes are fixated on Drew, like a lion that has captured his prey with the sheer force of his stare. And the bigger in build and smaller in brains male for a second holds that petrified expression of a scared deer. His next move just confirms that there are no brain cells left in that big head of his. Straightening his shoulders and looking at Owen with a pitying look, you wonder if there’s a chance that you can go home without having to bury a body.  
“I didn’t know you had a thing for small men, Y/N. It explains a lot.” his smug remark seems to be the last drop in Shaw’s cup.  
Saving words, meaningless warnings and threats or even insults, the dark-haired male lungs forward and with a few punches has Drew flat on his ass, blood running down his nose. He’d have used his fists a little more, if the dangerous aura surrounding him is something to go by, but you interfere.  
“Don’t. He’s not worth it.”  
Having taken a few steps towards the scuffling duo, you gently place your hand on Owen’s shoulder and squeeze lightly. Yet he doesn’t buckle, flinch or even ease his grip over the other man’s throat. Drew, who most probably got his head banged against the floor a thud too much, opens his bleeding mouth, obviously about to say something meaningless, which will win him a few good punches or in the worst case – a ticket straight to hell.  
“I suggest you shut it unless you want to get your head nailed further into the floor.” just like before your voice is neutral, almost emotionless, yet the flame in your eyes speaks louder than any words ever can.  
With another tug you manage to coax Owen to let him go and stand up, but not without a nice kick to the side as a warning that he would neither forget, nor forgive what happened. Letting this action slide past you, pretending not to hear the whimper that comes from your boss, you rush to the desk and grab your things. Under Owen’s watchful eyes you scurry away from the room, heels clattering loudly.

The drive home is enveloped in heavy silence that weights between you two like a sharp knife. You realise Owen needs some time to cool off. A decent outlet will do the trick as well but since you had to literally drag him away from Drew, you are pretty much stuck with his grumpy mood now. With his hands gripping the steering wheels as if it’s his worst enemy, the male’s eyes are transfixed on the road ahead, his exterior holding a seemingly calm composure. ‘Bullshit!’ mentally scoffing, you know better than to fall for what meets the eye right now. That is if the sound coming from the leather being gripped and probably at the verge of tearing is something to go by. Internally shuddering, you remember that the last time you saw him like this people went missing. You look out of the window, in need of distraction.  
“Tell me you’re okay.” his tight voice snaps you out of your pointless stare and you look at him.  
“What?”  
“Tell me you’ll be fine, Y/N … lie to me or I will turn the car, and God help that guy once I find him…” the deep gruffness in his tone has your skin prickling.  
Not even for a second do his eyes stray from the road ahead, yet you manage to guess his emotions by the stiffness in his jaw and how a muscle there keeps on twitching. Unconsciously your hand cups your now numb cheek – that’s all to it, the skin is pulled and sensitive to the touch, but it will heal.  
“I’m fine, Owen.” despite the reassurance in your voice and the small smile, you take notice of how his grip around the wheel tightens and he hits the gas pedal, as if demons are chasing him.  
“I am. Really.” gently placing your hand on his shoulder, you squeeze, hoping that physical contact will snap him out of his red-gaze-stupor.  
Breathing in sharply, he gears the car even faster, making you grit your teeth. Your love for speed, despite being abnormal in your line of work, is rather restricted to the acceptable and reasonable. The highway may be a good place to race, go all nuts on the gas pedal and literally have a wish to fly from the ground, but the crowded streets of a big city like this one aren’t. A painful flashback from your childhood, a car accident in which you almost lost your life, flashes in front of your eyes like a mocking warning. Erratic to get out of the vehicle or at least make it slow down you take a firmer grip over your seatbelt with your free hand. The dreadful realisation that at any moment a car or a pedestrian, a kid even, may jump out in front of you, has the blood draining from your face and your heart pounding painfully against your chest.  
“Owen, please. Slow down.” the broken plea hoovers in the air in the compartment.  
The car’s breaks make the tires grind against the asphalt and a horrendous screeching sound has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. Several seconds pass until the Austin Martin comes to a complete halt, the engine still roaring.  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” it takes some time for Owen’s words to process in your temporarily shut down brain.  
He is still gripping the wheel for dear life, you note. Just like you are gripping at his shoulder. Sighing with relief, you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and let go of him before slumping back into your seat. The erratic beat of your heart resonates throughout your body, but you’ll survive.  
“Take me home. In reasonable speed, if possible.” you didn’t mean for your voice to sound so aloof, but it did none the less.  
Ten or so minutes later the Austin Martin comes to a stop in front of a house in the rich neighbourhood. ‘Hide in the obvious places.’ is Shaw’s slogan, so the casual layout of the small mansion looks like all the rest that litter the street, successfully not drawing any attention.  
Entering the house, Owen immediately disappears in his office, the door closing behind him with a loud crashing sound before you even manage to shrug off your coat. ‘Better steaming off in his office than over someone’s beaten body.’ convincing yourself that you did the right thing, you manage to drag your exhausted body to the bedroom.  
A hot, soothing shower and a small snack later, you find yourself sprawled on the bed, head slightly tipped over the edge while trying to put some order in your thoughts. It’s obvious that now you are jobless, so a hunt for a new way to bring money to your account is first on the agenda. Then there’s Owen. His reaction back in the office was rather expected and legitimate, so you can’t hold him responsible for jumping on Drew, when you, yourself, had been planning to do so seconds before. What unnerves you is the aftermath – isolating himself and completely shutting you off. Despite his demeanour, Owen finds joy in human contact, in your hugs, random kisses and the pestering desire to always touch him. You just function like that – the opportunity to be free to place your hand on his shoulder or thigh is what manages to ease your nerves; his presence by your side shoos away the demons in you. And now he’s not here. A traitorous lump forms in your throat, yet you chase away the nostalgia – he’ll come round once the fury has seeped out of his system, not a second too soon.

Three days later you are ready to punch him in the face, if only to get any response whatsoever. The furniture has more presence than him – either his mind is being too preoccupied with work, or he’s plotting how to get his hands on Drew. And for the sake of the other male, you hope Shaw isn’t planning where to bury a body.  
It’s late afternoon and he has been locked in his office ever since the morning when you were graced with a nod, and that’s pretty much it. Not even a sideway glance, let alone a kiss. The previous sadness at his unapproachability has now evolved into anger, sparking to life a side of you that tends to tip between mischievousness and craziness. For some time the idea to cause physical damage to him spun in your head, but eventually you chased it away, knowing you don’t have it in you to actually hurt him. Then there was to sip him his own medicine, yet what good will more distance do to your relationship? And now, as you browse through a recently bought romance novel, you wonder if seduction will work? A pair of sexy lingerie, some heels, foreplay maybe? When it comes to sexual activities, Owen enjoys everything you have in mind, as long as he gets to be the dominant one. ‘Maybe it’s time we change that?’ musing, you turn yet another page, letting your mind mull over a plan, which, with some luck, may turn out to be a successful victory, or a rueful disaster. The image of a set of handcuffs and a blindfold spin of repeat in the back of your head, whispering lustful propositions to your unsatisfied libido-driven self.

*`*`*

Apparently the master plan of catching Own off guard in his office and finally confronting him has a little glitch to it. What do you do if said male is not in the supposed room? To your utter disappointment the office area, which has turned into a suite of residence in the last couple of days, upon barging in turns out to be void of any life forms. Save for the golden fish in its round tank that’s plastered on the edge of the desk. But to you Godly doesn’t count, as she won’t tell you where that obnoxious male took off to.  
Checking whether his car keys are here, your confusion grows as he seems to be still in the house, yet in hiding. Marching around the ridiculously large building for around twenty minutes you return to your room empty handed.  
“Where did he go? Did he dug a hole in the ground and vanished like a mole? For the love of…” pinching the bridge of your nose at the ridiculous propositions leaving your mouth, you flop down on the bed.  
The silence that’s settled over the house, your home, now holds a suffocating edge to it, making you feel restless. Tossing and turning, eventually you opt for some physical action which can easily be arranged as the gym in the basement is pretty well equipped. ‘Squishy pants can play hide and seek all he wants!’ fuming you quickly change your clothes. The jeans and fancy top get replaced by a neon crop top with a sports bra underneath and a pair of thighs. Pulling your untameable locks up into a messy ponytail, you jog out of the room.  
Warmed up and ready to let loose some of the build-up agitation and fury, you come short of breath once you find Owen already occupying the area. Currently he seems to be finding joy in beating the leaving shit out of a punching bag. His jabs are strong and precise, making the otherwise unmoveable bean bag sway. By the sight of him your throat goes dry, in favour of other areas.  
Since he obviously doesn’t expect company, Owen has opted to train in scarce clothing, consisting mainly of his tracksuit bottom… and that’s pretty much it. His bare back is at the mercy of your giddy eyes that seem to be glued there, without any hope of averting. You gulp and straighten your shoulders, sensing that he most probably already knows of your presence. ‘Screw him! I’m here to let some steam off! He can sulk all he want.’ making your mind and heading to the opposite end of the gym, you straightforwardly ignore the tingling sensation that zaps through your body.  
Thoughtfully having taken along your earphones, you plug them in your ears, fasten the phone around your waist and begin to warm up. Stretching up first so that you won’t end up limping, you proceed to jog on place for some time before grabbing the skipping rope. The music blasts in your ears as you mentally count each and every jump, successfully blocking away the feeling of being watched. Because it’ll be stupid of you to think he’ll let you slide away. Even now, after unambiguously showing that you have no interest in speaking with him, his stare drills holes in the back of your skull. ‘Focus or you’ll end face first on the mat!!’ mentally scolding yourself, you keep on hopping, knowing perfectly well of the view it provides for the male – bobbing up and down bum and hair, and barely hinted breasts if you are merciful and slightly move to the side. Enough to push him in the corner.  
Living with Owen has many pros, one of which being that you know what has effect on him and what not. The slut-eyes are a drastic no, while the hinted seduction and the barely hidden lushness of your body receive a loud yes. A smirk finds its way on your face as you do the last round of jumps and stop. Stretching your legs and doing some bending, you give him a nice view of your rear. ‘God, I’ll be regretting this in the near future.’ a small voice snickers in the back of your head at this remark while the righteous one notes that this is very unladylike. Shutting off your brain in favour of some physical action, you sprint forward. Running has never been a thing for you; truth be told, you despise it. Yet now, as you jog the periphery of the gym with your eyes trained straight ahead, you admit that it has its perks. Stealing a glimpse at Owen and finding him still hitting the bag, not so vehemently, yet just as demolishing, a small smirk stretches your lips as you catch his eyes following you around.  
The small game of ‘ I won come until you cave in, but will most certainly drive you insane with my sexy curves’ keeps on going for about an hour. By the time you wipe the sweat off your brow and take a gulp from the bottle of water, you have to admit that Owen’s self-control is something to be admired. It irritates you, yes, but it’s also quite astonishing. A thrill runs down your spine, making the fine hairs on your neck stand up. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you notice the male creeping in on you. He’s close enough that with a single jump he can tackle you over. Stopping dead in his track after getting spotted, he gives you a cocky smirk. You can’t help looking him up and down. Against all logical reason, he looks even hotter now, covered in a layer of sweat and panting, his shortly cut hair standing somehow dishevelled. What gets your insides curling though is the glimmer in his eyes. Pure and unmistakable lust. ‘Dear lord of puppies and unicorns!! We are in the freaking gym!’ pulling out the headphones and raising an eyebrow his way, you toss the device on the mat a few feet away.  
“What do you want Shaw?” your apathetic voice is well-played, as the male’s eyes widen at the way you address him.  
Seconds later said green pools narrow into slits.  
“Retract your claws, kitten.” the deepness of his voice sends jolts of pleasure throughout your traitorous body.  
With the way he looks, speaks and moves, hell with him as whole, it’s impossible for your rational side to win the battle against your meek heart and body. Body that has missed him for the last ten or so days. Gulping and pulling off a brave face, you cross your hands under your chest and finally fully face him.  
“You deserve to get your eyes clawed out.” the hiss is accompanied by a narrowing of your eyes, for better effect.  
Owen simply chuckles and also crosses his hands over his chest, mimicking your stance. ‘Don’t get fooled! He’s ready to bolt at any second.’ noting the tenseness of his muscles as they are still stretched like wires, you eye the room. A quick sprint is what separates freedom from getting caught and pressed against a mattress. It’s not like you don’t fancy the idea, it’s just that you want to keep on playing the angry girlfriend. Yet with a glance at him, you know the sprint will be pretty much fruitless – he’s faster and stronger; before you know it he’ll have you tackled down on the floor. So instead of that, you turn tail and flee. Quickly recovering from the initial shock of not expecting you to bolt like that, Owen’s hot on your heels in no time. No more than a few meters away he manages to tackle you down, spinning your bodies so that he cushions the fall. Before you even manage to yelp, you are flat on your back, with hands pinned above your head and one very aroused Owen looming over. His smirk promises unquestionable pleasure and delight pretty soon.  
“What was the sprint for, love?” the male purrs like a cat before nuzzling your neck.  
Squirming and fighting back a giggle at the sudden show of affection and playfulness, you wriggle your body from underneath him, successfully rubbing yourself against him. A low growl vibrates against your skin before Owen mimics your action and presses himself further into you, leaving no space even for a thin sheet of paper to fit through.  
“Are you done brooding, champ?” whispering against his ear in your seductive voice, you don’t miss the opportunity to rub your breasts against his naked chest.  
As punishment for being a tease he nibbles at the sweet spot you have on your neck at the same time as his groin grinds against yours. A moan skips past your lips as pleasure quickly bubbles up and through your system like a fast-acting drug.  
“You should have left me teach him how improper it is to rise a hand against a woman. Especially when it’s my woman.” his husky voice sends goosebumps running up and down your skin.  
“Hypocrite.” you manage to wheeze out before his stubble tickles the side of your face.  
“No. I just hate abusive men. And I like to teach them a lesson their fathers seem to have not deemed important.” slowly finding his way around your face, Owen peppers your skin with small kisses.  
Sprawled on the soft mattress, with his weight pushing you down, you should have felt at least a decent sense of claustrophobia creep in under your skin. Instead the warmth that radiates from his skin has you melting like chocolate as he steadily proceeds to tease your senses.  
“Don’t try to push me into oblivion in order to skip answering my questions. You know I hate it.” somehow one of your hands comes loose and quickly finds its way in his short jet-black hair.  
“Do I do that?” innocently prompting, he kisses the side of your mouth, barely hiding the satisfied smirk.  
“Yes.” you breathe out and lightly tilt your head to the side.  
“You don’t seem to mind.” whispering against your lips, he quickly bends down and captures them in a heated kiss, successfully silencing whatever reply you had stored.  
Gradually what starts off as a soft, feathery-like peck grows into a passionate battle for dominance as neither of you caves in. During those seconds of utter bliss, you manage to salvage a part of your brain that continues to function so once Owen’s too preoccupied trying to coax you into giving in to him, you wriggle from underneath and after applying a decent amount of strength topple him over. The second of his realisation is a moment of victory, as the shock written on his face totally adds up to the gleefulness in you. It’s quite a compromising position you end up into, as you straddle his middle and for once he is the one pinned down, restrained, and you hold the rains.  
The air shifts and grows thick with lust, as you consciously use the new angle to your advantage. Your hips grind against the bulge in his pants, making Owen growl and clench his teeth. The sparks in his eyes make heat pool between your legs faster than you manage to register the fact that for once he allows you to dominate him. ‘Wholly pumpkins and pie!’  
“No more brooding?” the huskiness in your own voice leaves it unrecognisable, yet you enjoy the shivers that skip past Shaw at the sound of it.  
“Yes.”  
With that you bend down and capture his lips into a heated kiss, your tongue first to dart out and seek permission to enter. Once he grants it, you reward the obedience by snaking your playful hands down his toned chest. The raw desire that spiralled from the initial agitation now has both of you seeking the needed outlet – too much energy and emotions clog your souls to the point where the sole need to breathe becomes a burden. Unconsciously Owen has moved you into a sitting position, with you still riding his hips.  
Without words or even glances, clothes quickly come off – your top gets torn and shuffled away while the sports bra meets a more acceptable fate – tossed somewhere to the side. Being the tease he is, despite the burning desire in his loins, Owen stops to play with your breasts. As full and round as they are, they fit perfectly in his hands. The perky nipples, after a few pinches, get enveloped into the hotness of his mouth and you can’t contain the rasped moans that fill the space as electric jots run through you. In favour of keeping the game fair, your right hand snakes under the band of his tracksuit and cups him through his boxers. Owen intakes sharply and his teeth graze your sensitive bud making you whimper with bittersweet pain. Tempted to trace his length without the obstacle of clothing, instead you apply slightly more pressure over his hardened member and rub. The low moan that comes from the male sends another heat wave through your senses, threatening to drive them overboard.  
Releasing your nipple with a low popping sound, Owen’s hot breath ghosts over the sensitive flesh before he attacks your neck. The fact that he prolongs the tease indicates his silent desire to continue your little game. And you oblige to that wish. Your hand keeps on rubbing his member through the boxers, occasionally even dragging your nails over the length of it, making the male shudder.  
The never-faltering patience, his biggest virtue, now turns to be his biggest demise – the need to ram into you until you scream his name is so fierce that Owen finds himself wondering how his mind hasn’t shut down by now. The luscious curves of your toned body add to the temptation and further ignite his lust. The pressure in his lower stomach rises, making it almost painful to hold back. Yet he does; he waits your cue.  
“Owen.” you purr against his ear, attracting his attention. “I want to ride you.”  
His breath hitches at your confession and his member grows even harder in your hand. You rarely talk like that – usually it’s a plea or a tactful hint, never a straightforward statement.  
“Then ride me.” the huskiness in his voice sends your last remaining senses out of the window.  
It takes both of your no more than a minute to get rid of all remaining clothing before your bodies press against one another again. With the collision of your lips, a wild vortex of emotions that gains speed clashes as well, creating even greater pressure in your lower regions and thereafter fuelling the lust for release. The only outlet seems to be found in the other’s body, which suits both of you just fine.  
The moisture between your legs signalises that you’re ready to lose yourself in a blissfully hot and passionate sex. Rubbing yourself against him further agitates the male, as his own restrain is rather faltering at this moment. Your small teasing doesn’t help him the slightest bit, and you are perfectly aware of that. Not appreciating the wicked games, the male thrust his hips up, making you moan as the head of his length enters you. Next comes the hiss as he pulls back. A low curse flies from Owen’s lips and you quickly lean down and suffocate the next chain of words. With your hands gripping his shoulders for balance and his on your hips to steady or stop any further movement, you dive head first. In a single thrust Owen’s member enters you to the hilt, making your walls contact around it.  
“Fuck, Y/N.” he mutters as he rests his forehead against yours.  
The movement of your hips up and then sharply back down has him throwing his head back and growling, his hands digging in you the sides of your hips. The sweet pain that follows fuels the lust and you rotate your hips before once again pulling out. The pace you set is fast, almost erratic, as the need to come, to shatter those invisible forces that somehow try to compress you, becomes overbearing.  
Owen is now sprawled down, his back arched and his head thrown back as he grits his teeth, trying to stop himself from moaning. Your newfound wickedness kicks in and you rock your hips harsher against him, making him moan.  
“God, Owen. Yes! Do that again.” you lower you upper body and whisper against his ear, your voice hoarse. “Moan again.”  
Another thrust follows, as fast and rough as the previous, and the delightful sound follows once again. The moan is deep, throaty and distinguishably male. Taking the soft part of his ear between your teeth you gently nibble, all the meanwhile not ceasing to move your pelvis up and down.  
“Again.” the word gets suffocated against the flesh, yet the next penetration has both of you moaning.  
For once you find it hard to lead the game – it’s unbearable to be so close to the orgasm, yet not reaching it. The fire running all over your body threatens to burn you down to the core as the pressure builds up gradually. You need to come. You must. The time for playing around is over.  
“Take me.” you whisper against his ear and as if waiting for that silent command, Owen rolls you over.  
Not waiting to urge him, he pulls away only to slam down into you. Arching your back, you scream with pleasure. Shaw hooks your legs over his shoulders and his hands come to stand on both sides of your head. The shift takes seconds to happen, yet once it does you have no time to react before he pulls out only to immediately come crashing back down, hitting that very sweet, tingling spot deep within your body.  
The gym gets filled with the sound of skin hitting skin, panting, moaning, growling and the occasional scream. The air is thick with lust and sex, which make it harder to breathe in, yet all those things are irrelevant – right now you want him to keep on fucking you until your voice gets hoarse, your legs hurt and you barely remember why you two clashed in the first place.  
Owen is not gentle as he buries his member deep into your awaiting folds, nor when he pulls abruptly out. It’s like his sole purpose right now is to fuck your brains out, which he is very successful with.  
Soon the anticipated release nears, building up under your skin like a coiled snake and waits to spring forward. Your nails dig into Shaw’s back, leaving long claw marks in their wake as he quickens his pace to the point where the border between pain and pleasure blurs. Driven by the upcoming orgasm, which promises to be ground-shattering, he rams deeper, holds you harder as if you can flee from his grasp at any second.  
Your womanhood contracts around him, pulling him in, not wanting the emptiness to surface. It’s an instinct to keep a part of you near, intact, yet you know better. Your body wants his just as passionately as your soul yearns for his.  
“Owen.” with his name on your lips, he knows you’ll be his undoing. You always have been.  
“Say it again.” he breathes against the skin of your neck, “Say my name.”  
“Owen.” you mutter as your eyes drift shut and your body arches in desperate attempt to meet his.  
“Again.” his grunt has you shaking.  
“Owen!”  
“Again.”  
You are close. So deliciously close. Suddenly your legs get released and he wraps them swiftly around his middle, not even for a second breaking the pace. You whole body clings to him – legs locked around his waist, hands on his back.  
And then he stops. Not even a muscle bulges as he stays hoovering over you. Opening your eyes you meet his green pools, darkened by lust.  
“Say my name, kitten. I want you to shout it as I fuck you.”  
And without further ado he rams back into you, balls deep, making you trip over your own sanity. His name leaves your lips like a rasped shout, as all the air has been knocked out of your lungs. No repetition is needed as with each thrust you scream his name. The final drop comes seconds later as a few things happen at once. He hits that very special place in you at the same time as his teeth sink into the juncture of your neck.  
“OWEN!” the yell bounces off the walls like an echo.  
The orgasm is mind-blowing and sends you drifting into the blissful nothingness. You barely register Owen’s lips uttering your name as his own release washes over him.  
You lay on the mattress, your bodies entwined and still connected, and fight for a gulp of air. You vaguely register the pulsation coming from where he bit you. But then again you are sure your nails did one hell of a job on his back, leaving bleeding gashes in their wake.  
Panting yet reluctant to part, you feel Owen snuggling closer to you while trying not to crush you smaller frame with his weight. Resting your chin on his head and pulling him closer to you, a sigh of relief skips past your swollen from all the kisses lips.  
“I have conflicted feeling for our small moral clashes. They are awful, yet the end of them is amazing. Does that make me a bad person?”  
Owen chuckles against your bruised skin as his fingers trace your stomach.  
“No. It makes you passionate to find an outlet.”  
Despite not actually seeing his face, you can bet your left ovary that the smug smile is on his face. Huffing and then humming, you relish in the feeling of finally having all that crushing weight off of your shoulders. Joke aside, it seems you really were looking for an outlet. Both of you were.  
“You still can’t go and kill Drew though.”  
“There goes my plan for the evening.” the dozy tone in his voice marks the end of his stamina for now.  
Chuckling, you’d have urged him that your two go to bed, but once your own yawn comes and your eyes drift shut, you know it’s a battle lost. For once you feel as light as a feather.


	9. Shaw brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are double trouble. One kindled the sparks, the other ignited the fire. Yet as similar as they are, they are also different. In the end it is up to you to choose between self-preservation and passion. The stake is your life. Pick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first off, I'm not dead, no. Second, sorry for being soooo late with an update. Third, this baby was inspired by a reader, yet I appologise for pretty much sticking up to only a part of it. *hides behing a wall and barely misses the arrows and rotten tomatoes* meeek! Don't hate me, please! I couldn't write a threesome, forgive me!!!!   
> Either way, enjoy and share your thoughts!

It all started as an alcohol-infused one-night stand with a tall, handsome and unquestionably dangerous man. He knew what he was doing from start to finish, so you left the ‘crime-scene’ satisfied beyond belief, with the buzzing thrill of having checked out a point in your bucket list. A very uncharacteristic point which originally you had no intention of writing down whatsoever. Either way, the deed was done, and you felt no regret for having a night filled with passionate and wild sex with a man you’ll never see again. That was, of course, until you actually saw him again.   
A month or so later your paths crossed in bar; you and your friends had gone out clubbing and the last thought on your mind was to be weary of encountering the man you shagged not so long ago. When your eyes met, the same thrill that rushed through your system the first time he approached you, reappeared once again. Ignoring him was the only reasonable strategy you could put up, yet somehow you once again ended pressed between a wall and his firm chest. How did that one happen, you had no clue.  
“We meet again, kitten.” his deep raspy voice made your insides curl, as the memory of your last encounter still lingered close-by.  
“Luck.” the word almost made you choke – with his looming height and intimidating demeanour the male did no good to your most basic functions.  
“I don’t believe in luck.” he stated and melted the last remains of space between you.  
He was hard and lustful, and you were way beyond your comfort zone to be playing a smart-ass. The decision was between to either take the offer and have another marathon with him, or chicken out and keep your plumage nice and neat. Believing you don’t have it in you to take him up on the offer, you’d have snuck away with a lame excuse if his large hand hadn’t snaked around your middle and pulled you flush against him. His lips around your neck made your mind for you.  
“Then it’s fate.” were the last coherent words you managed to mutter before he dragged you out of the club, his hand not even once leaving your lower back.

*`*`*

By the time you began to realise things were getting seriously entangled, it was too late. Deckard had made it clear that if you want to walk away, he won’t come chasing you. That should have bothered you on some level, as your principals took a serious undermining the second he was close, yet it didn’t. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t only the nice sex either. Maybe you fancied his bad-boy look, his dominant aura and his craziness. Yes, apart from being a beast in bed, Deckard Shaw turned out to be slightly unstable whenever someone crossed him. Mercy was not common for a man who killed for a living, so it surprised you beyond belief that your inner alarm hadn’t went off months ago. The man was bad news wherever you looked at it – he had blood on his hands, a criminal record, you name it, he most probably has it.   
You should have went running for the hills the second he pulled the trigger in front of you, leaving a corpse splattered in your feet. ‘He did it to protect me’ was the justification you fed yourself, yet on a primal level, as if you are some pre-historic animal, his dominant and protective nature stroked your ego. You fancied him for being a monster. And obviously you were just as insane as he was for putting up with a man who can drive a bullet through your brain faster than you can scream.   
He’s a thrill. The thrill. There is no getting off from that height now.   
Being ‘friends with benefits’ has its perks for both sides – you can rely on his protection when needed, and he often finds solace in your presence, when the demons from the past come knocking back on his door. You never pressed him on the matter – only admitted that if he ever wanted to speak with someone about it, you were willing to listen. He laughed.  
“If I ever tell ya half the shit I’ve done, you’d go running to the cops. I’m not having that.” was his cocky remark.  
“If you think so low of me, then you don’t deserve half the time I spend on you.” was the comeback.  
He snarled and you chuckled. It was too easy for you to crack his mask. It was also dangerous, but on a certain level you knew he’d never actually hurt you.   
“You are insane, you know?” he had admitted with a coy smirk before nearing you with his predator gait.  
“I’m afraid it’s contagious.” your replay made him smirk.   
Around half an year passed with you two meeting occasionally, mostly to fuck rather that talk, yet often Deckard would simply hold you close and play with your long hair, his thoughts seemingly overpowering his desires. In times like that you’d wonder if he’s planning where to burry your corpse once he gets rid of you or was rather becoming melancholic. And as if feeling he has had enough of whatever he was doing, he’d simply sit you next to him and start doing something else.  
“Wanna talk about it?” the question was like a new ‘hello’ between the two of you; rare, but once in a while spoken.  
You never expected an answer as he had never provided one. One day he did, though.  
When he actually started speaking you had to keep yourself from squealing. He was opening himself up, piece by piece. And you greedily took everything he was willing to offer.  
Coming to know the atrocities he had done didn’t send you running to the cops like he had implied it would. It actually made you think deeper about the world you were living in; many men, seemingly good, had been doing awful things right under the noses of the common people. Your people. Despite your growing warmth towards Deckard, you knew better than to consider him a ‘common’ man. Yet was he the bad guy? You didn’t know. He might be, or he might be not. Either way, he was keeping the head on your shoulders safe, and as much as possible hiding you below the radar.  
Despite being his dirty little secret, those who wanted to get to him found out about you. That’s when the world of freedom and safety burst like a balloon, leaving you drowning in the black waters of danger.  
One day, after work, you were simply grabbed from the street, sedated and locked away. Unlike the films, they didn’t let you sit on a chair and wait for prince charming to come and save you. No, they wanted to know Deckard’s weak places and you provided the perfect supplier of juicy stuff. Yet you wouldn’t speak, so they became creative with the methods of extraction. In the moments of rest, you wished they’d just finish you or let you go, as it was growing tiresome and tedious.   
Deckard didn’t come alone to save your beaten up and tied ass. He brought another man with him. It turned out that was his younger brother, Owen. Highly intelligent, more so than his elder, Owen possessed a rare asset of qualities – he was a dick who had no appreciation for human life whatsoever, as long as it wasn’t his or his brother’s. The whole ordeal of having to come all the way here to save his brother’s ‘lousy half-wit of a whore’ had obviously issued him in a way that made him ignorant and easily irritated. In a different world, you’d have never confronted him for that insult. But after being kidnapped, tortured and almost raped, his vulgar attitude was the last drop in your cup. It will be a mild understatement to say that your top blew off and you said things which under different circumstances would have made you stutter. And once over, instead of lashing back or even hitting you, the younger Shaw raised an eyebrow your way and after calculatingly looking you up and down, nodded and left. You hoped that was the last to be seen of Deckard’s family.

*`*`*

Ironically, now three months later after that traumatising ordeal, you find yourself packing a small suitcase under Deckard’s watchful eyes. He came rushing into your apartment right after you were preparing for bed, his urgency clearing away the dizziness caused by the late hour.  
“You’ve been watch and targeted.” were his first words as soon as he closed the door behind him.   
“Pack your stuff. I’m sending you to my brother.” were the next.  
“You will only send my corpse to that ass-deep into himself prick.” the retaliation made him look at you with steel eyes.  
“Woman, if they get their hands on you, a corpse will be too much to wish for.” the grave tone in his strained voice made you tense.  
“Fine. But just so you know, I’m not responsible for any damage I may do the second he opens his big mouth.” you muttered before running into your bedroom.  
Driving like Satan himself is on his tail, Deckard’s whole posture radiates pressure and agitation as he speeds down the highway not even half an hour after bursting into your apartment. That’s the only thing that gives away his opinion towards this matter – getting you as far away as possible from a war zone. In the recent months you two became even closer, as he obviously placed more trust in you after not even once proving to be misleading so the necessity of your disappearance is even more urgent now. After all since you noticed how things have escalated, why wouldn’t his enemies? ‘I pretty much have a huge red dot blinking on my back.’   
“What makes you think I’ll be safer with your brother?” breaking the tense silence, the words seem to snap him out of his stupor.   
“He’ll look after you while I clean things up.” the restrain in his voice makes needles dance under your skin.  
“Pff.” you scoff and roll your eyes ,“I’m almost sure he’ll offer me on a sliver plater to those who are willing to pay more. That guy hates me in the guts.”  
On more than one occasion, against your will of course, you had to share a breathing space with the younger Shaw. And not once did he miss an opportunity to point out a flaw of yours or urge his brother to snap out of his haze and get rid of you before things get complicated. Usually whenever both of them were in the room, you’d do something on your phone or read a book, and try to ignore as much as possible all the remarks Owen made. Yet each and every time you’d end hurling something at him – be it a chain of your own remarks, a physical object, and once or twice, whatever you were drinking at the moment.   
To put it simply, it will be most desirable to spend as less time as possible in the company of the genius. Or else he’s risking to get rat poison sipped into his coffee. You have the guts to do it, you know you do. The sheer action of his lips parting can give you the needed nudge.   
“He actually likes you.” throwing the bomb, you let a very unladylike sound.  
“Santa’s beard and his elves, I swear Owen likes only himself.”  
Chuckling, Deckard looks at you for a second, his amusement with the relations between you and his sibling not staying unnoticed.  
“I swear, if he opens that big mouth of his, I’ll throw a knife at him.”  
From someone else’s lips such a threat may sound futile and funny, ridiculous even, but Deckard knows better than to allow himself to make the same mistake twice. It appeared that, apart from enjoying reading and writing, you had an affinity to knife throwing. And not the mere amateur type. No, you are a pro to the point where your aim is impeccable.   
“If you don’t challenge him, he may as well forget you are there.”  
“You find this highly amusing, don’t you?” grumbling under your breath, you yawn and rub your eyes.  
The day had been a long one, and you pulled almost an all-nighter on a book, so now it’s pretty hard to keep your eyes open, let alone order your thoughts.  
“Sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

He doesn’t get to wake you when you get there. Long before reaching the hideout, you’re jolted awake by a nightmare. The same nightmare you’ve been having ever since you got kidnapped. The scenes play in the same dreadful sequence over and over almost every night, reminding you of a disk put on replay – no getting out of that one. Deckard’s hand on your thigh and the small squeeze are all the compassion you receive. A hug would’ve been better but then again he has never been the type to enjoy such kind of physical contact. Reconciling yourself to the small gesture, you entwine your fingers with his and allow his thumb to draw circles over the skin.   
As expected, upon getting face to face with Owen Shaw, you feel the uncanny desire to smack him hard across the face with something. You don’t know why, as he is still on the phase of ignoring you and not a single vile word has been spoken.  
“… the little twat is not worth all this headache…” ah, there it is.   
Barely stopping yourself from snorting and bearing your teeth at him, you distract your riling brain with the simple task of observing your surroundings. The house you’ll be locked in, despite almost impossible to find, is nice in a way all renewed houses are. It holds that old-ish hue to it, despite that everything from floor to ceiling being brand new.   
“Kitten.” with that your head snaps back towards the two males, and for once you get the chance to study them up-close.  
Deckard is taller and broader than his sibling, yet seems to lack that highly intelligent gleam in his eyes that makes Owen believe he’s the smartest chicken in the coop. Despite being smaller in build, the youngest has more dips and heights than his brother – the T-shirt pulled over his broad chest does nothing to hide how ripped he is underneath it.  
“Try not to die.” the words roll off your tongue with a simplicity that’s more common for something like ‘see you soon’ or ‘my name is…’ but there’s no other way to it.  
“Don’t throw pointy things at him.” chuckling and nodding his head goodbye, Deckard Shaw leaves the building.  
And that’s when the fun part begins. And by ‘fun’ you mean a roller-coaster down the deepest and blackest places in the Abaddon, with Satan himself pulling the lever.  
“Your room is down the hall. Whatever you need, find it on your own.” 

*`*`*

Somehow a whole week passes since you have the misfortune to be placed under Owen’s authoritative wing. The only good this does is that you get to see how similar in attitude the Shaw brothers are – both are stubborn like pigs, impudent, arrogant and even have the same mood-swings. The only difference is that while you can use sex as a weapon against Deckard, with Owen you have to reach for other means to pacify him. Often he is irritated, pacing and at the verge of throwing you out of the door, yet never lifts a hand against you. Bonus points for which. His mouth still works overtime whenever he sees fit, even if you haven’t even graced him with a look. Quarrels get kindled easier than fire in dried grass and are respectably harder to put down.  
And yet somehow you grow to if not like, God forbid!, than stand Owen’s bad attitude. He has his reasons to be a constant dick, or at least you’d like to think so. Being on watch for his next spiteful remark makes you edgy and in need of an outlet, which requires the presence of the older brother. Once or twice seducing the nut-head passed through your mind, but after a small laugh or a scoff, you brushed the idea off.   
“Get dressed.” his order snaps you out of your daydreaming.   
Closing the book you were reading and raising a finely shaped eyebrow at him, you don’t even move a muscle.  
“Why?”  
“Just do as I say.”   
“Go buy a dog and then boss it around. I’m not here to feed your male ego.”  
“Well, it should be relatively easy to boss you around, since you are a bitch.”  
Your eyes widen at that, but the following chain of rueful curses gets stopped by him literally yanking you up on your feet, his iron hold bruising your upper arms in the process.  
“Let go of me!” as you wiggle around, he presses you against the near wall with slightly more force than needed.  
“Do as I say and go get dressed.” his face is inches away from yours and the desire to bite him starts taking root.  
“Why?” it takes great self-control not to hiss in pain as his fingers dig deeper into your arm.  
“We’ll see if you’re worth all the trouble I am putting myself into.” the devilish gleam in his eyes makes something in you stand on guard.  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“It means that tonight you’ll play the role of my naughty mistress.”  
The look on your face must be pretty indicative of how you feel about that.  
“It shouldn’t be that hard – you have already wrapped around your finger one Shaw brother like poisonous ivy, two wouldn’t be a problem.”   
The delicate hint that you are pretty easy to woo and get in bed doesn’t skip past your senses, but the utter shock and horror of having to go anywhere with Owen gets you riled up even more.  
“I’m not going anywhere with you. Pay someone else to come and play your little games.” struggling to get free against his iron hold is futile, but you are unwilling to give up.  
“Why are you so stubborn?” he’s aggravation with your unwillingness to cooperate makes the little devil in you grin in delight.  
“Why are you such an ass?”  
Maybe you should’ve though better than to fight back the man who’s keeping the head on your shoulders, yet his constant frown, the grumpiness and that eerie feeling he leaves behind keep you on edge all the time. As his eyes widen slightly, you can almost taste the harsh slap you’re gonna get any second now. Respectively you’re left utterly ground-shaken and amazed when instead of his rough hand colliding with your cheek, his lips crash against yours. Retaliation is a pathetic waste of time as you’re firmly sandwiched between one very solid male chest and an even more solid wall. Owen’s unbuckling hold and the sweet tingle in your tummy at the taste of his lips against yours further ignite your retaliation and in a desperate attempt to get him away from you, your teeth sink into his bottom lip. With a yelp and a following hiss he backs away immediately. Using the opportunity while you still have it, without a second thought you sprint towards your room. The door behind you closes with a loud bang that resonates throughout the house like an omen. The flutter in your chest mimics those vibrations as you pace back and forth, your hand covering your swollen mouth. The dreadful realisation that a part of you enjoyed the kiss sends your mind into overload. ‘I’m not supposed to feel attracted to him! He’s a dick!’ Yet with better luck you’ll convince yourself that pigs can fly.

*`*`*

It is well past midnight when you sneak out of the room, urged by the rumbling of your stomach due to the lack of food in it. The house is deadly silent and despite the eeriness it evokes in you, the stillness in the air also puts at ease the worry that has kept you pacing for the better part of the night. Truth be told, that kiss threw you into frenzy. Each and every time the memory flashes in front of your eyes a pleasant shudder runs down your spine seconds before the daunting realisation that those soft lips belong to Owen, the man you are supposed to despise from the bottom of your heart, makes the blood in your veins freeze. Something in your moral code must have completely snapped if now you begin to desire the younger brother. ‘The bastard turned out to be right – I am a harlot!’ an ironic snort bounces off the walls and rings through the silence like a mocking repeat. Tip-toeing down the stairs and into the kitchen, you poke your nose into the fridge and begin a slow and methodical hunt for something to eat. As all the racks are filled with various types of food, it’s quite easy to pick something light and nutritious to bite into; by some strange desire it happens to be a ripe, juicy peach. As your teeth sink into the soft fruit the nectar fills your mouth with sweet yet slightly tart mixture, making you involuntarily moan. The hunger that’s been storming within your body now strikes with full force and tempts to devour the fruit in seconds. Fighting this barbaric instinct, instead you lean back against the sink and bite patiently into the almost mushy deliciousness. Once over, your tongue darts out and licks your lips, savouring the remains of giddy sweetness before eyeing the fridge once again. ‘Another peach won’t hurt. It’s a fruit, it’s supposed to be harmless!’   
In an eye blink another round and heavy with juice peach is in your hand and without wasting any time, you bite into it. The moan that follows reverberates within the kitchen as your eyelids flutter shut and your back arches slightly – the ecstasy caused by a simple bundle of fructose is unreal and unexplainable.   
“That’s quite provocative you know.” the deep male voice snaps you out of your oblivion.  
With wide eyes your head snaps towards the doorway, where Owen leans casually against the wall, his hands crossed over his chest. His very bare chest.   
‘Sweet little baby cherubs!’ mentally you blush at the sheer sight of his well-toned upper body, while in reality with great effort you barely glance at those abs before your eyes clash with his. There’s mainly mock and humour ringing his deep green irises, yet with the tingle of some predatory trill. Gulping and licking your still tacky from the juice lips, with a fluid movement you turn your back to him and busy yourself with washing your hands. It’s unwise to turn your back on a potential hunter, yet this insight comes seconds later when you find yourself cornered by Owen, whose body presses firmly against yours. ‘Damn those shorts! Why didn’t I put on something else?!’ it’s painfully inappropriate to be in shorts that barely hide your underwear and a top that’s having difficulty concealing your already hard nipples. Your body’s betrayal is pretty proverbial at this point, as any male representative with a fine physic and a distinctive character manages to wake the bad girl in you.  
“Have your parents taught you no manners? You never turn your back on your host.” his voice, deep and slightly husky, successfully sends trills down your spine.  
The erratic beating of your heart, so strong and loud that it makes your eardrums vibrate, has formed a lump in your throat at the appearance of Owen. Every little aspect of his personality, everything that repulsed you up until this evening is called forward in order to protect you from a forthcoming stupid decision, yet even his vile and undeserved insults don’t discourage that little sinister, peccant and uncanny devil living in your head. Something in you desires to have the male, to taste him, to feel him, to touch him. Morals be damned, you want to feel him buried deep in you, to the hilt, making you scream. The momentous realisation has you paling, as any self-respect you had now melts away at the concept of completely ignoring whatever you have with Deckard in favour not of a random man you hit at the bar, but his younger brother!   
“I’ve been taught to show respect, yet your harassment of my personal space and the complete negligence of my desires to keep your distance has made me in turn ignore you.” it takes great effort to keep your body stiff and still, completely pressed against the sink in attempt to put some space between you and Owen.  
Yet, notorious for his temper and constant obtaining of whatever he desires, Shaw is not used to getting a ‘no’ for an answer. At least not from a woman who so obviously shows signals of desiring him in return.   
In all fairness, Owen really didn’t have that good of an opinion about you ever since he met you, mostly due to your obscure magnetism for trouble. His brother may find a trill in constantly looking over his shoulder, but Owen doesn’t. At least not because of a woman. Yet once he found himself caged in a household with you, things changed. Coming to know your witty tongue, fighting spirit and uncanny desire to throw things at him, he slowly developed an interest and began to see what his elder may have found in you, apart from a good fuck. A nice, refreshing change from the brainwashed women who fall into their feet like jelly and stay there until told otherwise. You were more like a viper, coiled and ready to strike any second, rather than a brainless zombie that just loves to fuck around with whoever is willing. Eventually that same peaked interest led to him to start registering the way you followed his movements, how your eyes lingered a tad more than necessary or how even in your obvious ignorance of his person, your body still flexed. He saw all that, and much more. Just like the way he now sees your inner battle, feels the turmoil and how your self-consciousness is getting a serious undermining by his games. A dark, almost sinful smirk appears on his face, as he further pushes his hard body against your back.  
Intaking sharply at the friction, in desperate attempt to put more distance you begin to climb on top of the sink. It’s ridiculous, yet your libido’s drives make you feel not only confused, but worried. It’s wrong to be playing around with brothers, you have watched enough shows and films to know that much. When the said siblings swim in the deep waters, it turns suicidal. Yet something in you craves the touch of the younger just like another part dreams of the older. It’s insane and mixed up and it scares you.   
Before having the chance to freak yourself out further, Owen grabs you by the waist, lifts you up and lets you sit on the edge of the sink. His body slips between you momentary relaxed legs and comes to stand even closer to you and your already moist centre. Panting and trying not to encourage him in any way, anger becomes the only visible outlet for the build-up frustration, horror, worry and self-loath.  
“What the fuck do you think you are doing!? Who do you think you are!!?? Get the fuck away from me or I’ll scream, you useless piece of shit!!”  
As if something in you snapped, a more violent part surfaces and literally begins to kick and claw at the male, desperate to get away. Yet instead of mortified or angered by your outburst or insults, Owen’s amused smirk grows more sinister and mischievous by the second.   
“Why are you fighting your desires, Y/N? Is it my brother’s opinion that bothers you? Because I can guarantee he won’t think any less fondly of you when he finds out your greedy little hands have begun to pry somewhere else.”  
The deep, almost mocking husk of his voice seems to make something in you take a step back. As the words, the proposition and the already decided conclusion of an affair that never really begun sink in, with mortification you find something in you, the same part that wants Owen to touch you, ease with relief and further rile up the sexual desires in you.   
“Just leave me alone!” your words, despite sounding meek and pathetic in your own ears, bear that characteristic coldness to it.  
Unfortunately, Owen just like Deckard is immune to it. With a small huff he leans forward and presses his lips against yours firmly, yet still giving you a small opening to run if you desire. The fact that you don’t urges him on and finally he finds himself completely pressed into you. His naked chest is pressed against your round breasts, your hard nipples teasing him though the cotton top. As if possessed, your hands go up and wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer. His lips, seconds ago teasing, now conquer yours.  
‘Unheard of! Shagging siblings! There’s definitely a special place reserved for me in hell.’ the thought, despite fleeting, serves as cold water getting poured over your quickly overheating body. Pushing Owen away with shaking hands, for a first time you look at him with eyes filled with sorrow and fear, with confusion and doubt, instead of the usual hostility and smugness, mixed with wit and mirth.   
“I can’t do this.” your voice, despite coming out as a whisper, holds the finality of an already set mind.  
“You push me away because you don’t want this, or because you are afraid that you want it too much?” the whole situation, apart from making him hornier by the second, amuses Owen to no end.  
He has never met a woman who’d push him away because of prejudice, or worse – because there’s already a potential ‘significant other’ occupying her bed. Yet here you are, neither filled with prejudice, nor in any real relationship with Deckard, and still not caving in to the desire that is so skilfully masked in those deep, alluring eyes. Pure curiosity keeps him away from simply taking you here and now, making you forget your worries by using his body as a weapon. That’s at least what Owen likes to believe, as the alternative appears not only ridiculous but also bears that old-fashioned sense of right and wrong that he feels pulled towards. A woman with no code can be no more than a brainless pawn in his machinations. Yet a woman with wit, sense of justice and loyalty threatens to become something entirely different, something that may turn Owen into a fool, just like his brother has been one in your presence. Irony will be bitter if the same woman catches both men, yet right now Owen can’t give less shit about that.  
“It’s just not right, nor fair. Towards Deckard, me or you. This,” here you point between the two of you, “whatever it is, is fleeting, yet will cause great long-lasting damage.”  
The dismissal of the topic is obvious, as you appear to not be changing your mind any time soon, and the other alternative is rape. And Owen will die with a rock-hard cock before throwing himself on an unwilling woman. So with a sigh, mostly out of resignation due to the rightness in your words than irritation at your hard-to-get games, steps away and helps you down. Once on your feet, he backs away and walks towards the door.  
“I hope that prejudice of yours won’t last once my brother returns. I’m sure he won’t mind sharing.” throwing over his shoulder the not so subtle promise of a soon-to-be meeting, Owen leaves the kitchen.  
Silence falls back into its previous place the second the soft padding sound of bare feet disappears. Still leaning against the sink, with your mouth slightly open and widened eyes, you put a hand on your chest in attempt to keep the banging of your heart at bay, as the muscle seems to desire to break free from its rib prison. Everything that happened in the span of no more than a few minutes replays in your head as you breathe in and out, the details like the way Owen looked at you and the fact that apart from kissing you in the middle of a tirade he didn’t molest you further, highlight in a series of other gestures and hints. Like the last one concerning his brother and sharing. The thought of a threesome with these two pops out of nowhere, and almost expectedly receives a response from your body, which currently appears to have a mind of its own. Vivid images of how two men regale you swim in your tormented brain and silence down the resolve from seconds ago to never allow yourself the humiliation of being classified as a hussy. 

*`*`*

Three awkward and long days later, filled with accelerating sexual frustration and mental turmoil, a car’s engine roars in front of the house, signalising the arrival of someone. Since this place is supposed to be a secret, the thought sends jolts of worry down your spine and you run out of your room. At the top of the stairs, though, you collide with Owen, who seems if not distressed, then aggravated. With a single glance he silences any questions whatsoever that may have come out of you, before continuing towards the door. Strolling back into your room with heavy heart, you linger near the door in order to hear who the intruder may be. The familiar heavily accented voice of Deckard makes you sigh with relief and lean against the door. Up until this moment you didn’t realise you had been holding your breath.   
The reunion between you two is short, as the older brother appears to have urgent matters that need discussion with his younger sibling and your presence appears to be currently if not unwanted, then unrequired. After making sure that he’s okay and things are somewhat normal, you return to your room and delve right back into the book you have been reading the past few days in order for time to pass. Yet the more you try to concentrate on the sentences, the more Owen’s words of his brother’s solidarity when it comes to you spin in your head. A small part of you protests vehemently against that proposition, not really wanting to admit that Deckard may dispose of you like that; whereas the other sees this as an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, a new adventure and something to look forwards to. Once again traumatised by the way your mental radar seems to be glitching whenever a Shaw is concerned, you give your best to return to the plot of the book.

The day passes without any significant collisions between yourself and the brothers. In the evening, in a manner of good will and due to the giddy feeling coursing through you and makes you feel unreasonably happy, you go downstairs and roll up your sleeves in the kitchen. Dinner tonight will be cooked by you, even if the house has to burn down to its foundations. Never being fond of cooking, yet knowing how to do it well-enough, most of the time when you try to become a culinary coryphaeus you end up with the firemen knocking on your door, the hose ready to flood the apartment.   
Somehow this marvellous, yet slightly dangerous idea, turned into something completely different. And the strangest and most disturbing part is that you don’t even know how that happened. One second you are leaning over the pot, checking the water, and in the next you are pressed against a male’s chest, his lips conquering yours in seconds. The initial instinct that kicks in is to fight off whoever dares touch you, yet once a pair of familiar hands wraps around your middle and tugs you even closer, you know it is Deckard. His lips conquer yours with something that mimics ferocity, yet you don’t mind one bit as he pushes you against the edge of the sink.   
No words are exchanged, no niceties or proper hellos, but you get straight to business. The trek from the kitchen, where Deckard left your lips swollen and your T-shirt discarded on the table, all the way to your room where he tosses you over the bed and crawls up your skin like a predator, isn’t present in your mind. You can’t possibly care less.   
The elder brother is rapid in his movements, eager and driven by lust so that for once he wastes no time teasing you, toying with your sensitive body or making you squirm under a merciless ministration. Instead he pours all the accumulated passion and raw emotions into fucking the daylight out of you. On all fours, with hands gripping the metal bars of the bed for dear life, the only thing you can do is try to stiffen as much as possible the moans that threaten to rip straight out of your soul as Shaw shows no signs of mercy or gentleness tonight. His thrust resemble jabs which stretch your walls to their maximum, making a bitter-sweet pain course through your system and clog the blood in your veins, making it denser. His calloused fingers dig into your waist as he is clutching you so hard that bruises will adorn the skin tomorrow. Yet that appears to be the least of your concerns. With the consistency of the pace, despite uneven and erratic, and the deepness and intensity of his thrusts, you can already feel the soreness straining your lower-region muscles.   
And then, as fast as everything began, it’s over and you can no longer contain your screams of pleasure or the way your back arches like a pulled bow. Collapsing face first onto the sheets, your ragged breathing mixes with Deckard’s as he flops down next to you, giving himself some time to recover from the overwhelming feeling of sudden emptiness that engulfs you both.  
In the tranquillity of this moment, disturbed only by your uneven breathing and the still quite loud banging of your heart, certain thought washes over you, almost making you jolt. ‘What if Owen was here now?’ The reminder of his promise, that he will have you soon enough, instead of repulsing you, sends a pleasant tingly warm swirling in your lower belly. ‘Here I am – barely breathing after one round with Deckard, and it’s already Owen’s body that I want. The slut alarms should go off any moment now.’   
Maybe you should feel bad for wishing them both, despite this drive being more sexual attraction than platonic feelings, yet you don’t. The need to rebuke yourself mentally for the degrading of any moral foundation you might have had up until now doesn’t materialize, but instead a sense of longing surfaces.   
While mixed up in this life-endangering mess, with more men wanting you dead rather than alive, something in you cracked. The bubble of security that burst a few months prior left you feeling unprotected, alone and afraid, even a thud bit paranoid. Now, you’ll give it all up to have the previous sense of stability back into your life. The thought of simply packing your stuff and returning home, which conveniently is located on another continent, has been spinning over and over in your mind during the long sleepless nights spend under the fear of getting kidnapped again. It will be so easy – get the necessities, buy a ticket, and submerge back into the depths of your small country, where you are unknown, a nameless face in the crowd. What a tempting thought this is. Yet the only thing that prevents this dream from coming true is the bridges you’ve build here; the same you’ll have to burn down.   
Looking at Deckard’s sleeping face and trailing with your eyes the harshly cut lines of his jaw and nose, what used to be a sense of continuous seeking for the other and the need to be in his presence has melted away into a pleasant buzz of a good lover who knows how to satisfy your needs. There’s no love to bind you two together, no personal attachment apart from the feeling of security and understanding that derives from your mutual company. Sure, you care enough not to want him to get killed and even wish him all the happiness he can get from this decomposing world, yet you are not delusional – there’s no place for you in his world and you are not that special person that can make him feel at peace with himself. Gently tracing the strong curve of his jaw with the tips of your fingers, you stand up soundlessly and go into the bathroom to clean yourself up and make your mind. The serenity and calming sound of the falling water always manages to restore the balance whenever you reach a crossroad. 

Sleep is scarce even tonight, when all the protection you can possible get is here – two hell-bound to protect you brothers, one more than the other, and a cellar loaded with guns and explosives (seen by accident, and later greatly scolded for). And still the air feels somewhat charged with the upcoming storm – something is about to go down and by some reason you’ll be in the middle of it all if you stay long enough. ‘Then I leave as soon as possible…’ 

/***/

The next day Deckard announces his departure and a part of you can’t help but scream for him not to go; not to risk his life further. Instead, you smile and hug him tightly. He doesn’t get to realise this is a farewell hug, the last one you two will ever share, and if by some chance he senses your next moves, he doesn’t let it show. Once again in the hideout it’s you and Owen and your continuous cycle of quarrelling, hissing, frowning and the eventual normal conversation before he once again irritates you. What appears to have turned into a routine by now feels so dear that the sole thought of abandoning it leaves a dreadful feeling of being empty clutching at your chest. ‘It must be done.’   
Dinner is served and eaten in silence. By some standards it’s even romantic how everything lines up at present – the well-fashioned table with the cloths and candles, the nice clothes and your decision to finally close the chapter of this dynamic head in your life-book. That being paying amends with Owen and finally enjoying a single evening with him, void of any nasty glares and the occasional tossing of knives at each other. For the occasion you even cooked – or at least gave your best shot, which he classified as ‘canteen food’ and thus it was a rich variety of takeout at his expense.   
“So what’s this all about?” his mildly irritated voice shatters the nice atmosphere exactly twelve minutes into diner.   
Calmly finishing your salad and taking a sip from the glass of rich red wine, not for once do you look him in the eyes. The fear of slipping and giving away your further attentions has you cautious and more silent than usual. Normally, he notices when for once you do not mind his constant staring and the way he shamelessly looks you up and down.   
“I’m just in a state of resolute, that’s all.” taking another bite from the Caesar salad, your gaze finally lifts up and meets him. “Should I hurl something at you so to make you feel better?”  
“Ah, that’s better – some sarcasm. For a second I thought you sick and dying.” mocking wins him a ticket straight to Bitch-ville.  
“What makes you think I’ll spend my last hours on Earth with you, were they my last?”   
His eyes narrow at you and his lips set into a straight line. As a provocation, you raise an eyebrow and smirk before sipping from your glass once again.   
“Do you feel better angering me, or is it just a sick sense of driving people insane that feeds your ego?”  
Owen snorts and crosses his hands over his chest, food left forgotten as his whole attention is now zeroed on me. Following his example, I leave the steaming meal and lean on the table, the wineglass swirling between my fingers.  
“I prefer irritating you to having to look at your sullen face all day long. Fury suits you better than pity.”  
In a sense what he just said may be classified as a compliment, yet you’d prefer if he didn’t use one insult instead of another. Sighing and shaking your head, a small smile stretches your lips before you stand up and walk to him.   
“Have you made it your daily chore to shift my moods?”   
Leaning against the edge of the table, even currently higher than him, you know you don’t leave the same feeling of imposingness as him. Instead, Owen appears more amused than irritated.  
“It’s something to fill my time with.”  
“Good. Then allow me to take you up on that.”   
He has no time to even open that smartass mouth of his, as yours silences it faster than any reaction. The dreadful second of anticipation for his reaction passes the second he pulls you down into his lap so that you can straddle him.   
“I told you you’d cave in?” he whispers against your lips before kissing you vehemently.  
“Then show me it was worth it.” your own voice ghosts across his neck as you dive down and gently nip at the skin.  
A low hiss slips past his lips and with a single movement he hoists you up while standing up. Wrapping your hands around his neck and locking lips, you allow him to dominate you. Just for tonight.  
Sprawled over his bed, with no clothes left to be discarded on both of you, Owen leaves a trail of kisses from your neck all the way down to your bellybutton, occasionally nibbling gently here and there. Not for once did it occur to you that he’d be the type of lover who’d take his time and prep his partner; instead you expected his approach to be similar to his brother’s.   
Your skin tingles under his hands as he traces each and every curve, dip and muscle on you, paying special attention to places that send you buzzing with ecstasy. Breathless and already aching for this desire to be seated, your nails run down his strong back, making Owen shudder and growl in your neck before biting it. The sound that you emit resembles a mixture between a deep, sensual moan and a pant.   
“Owen…”   
Hearing his name getting uttered by your now hoarse voice sets something in the male raging. The slow, teasing pace he used to procrastinate your release suddenly changes and as if something feral and dominant in him got unleashed. Without any sign of a warning he enters you up to the hilt. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, silencing the scream that either way resonates within you. His butterfly kisses up and down the length of your neck and the soothing hum of his voice ease you and what moments ago was a state of stiffness and rigidness in your muscles now melts into passion-infused thrill. The following kiss silences your moan as Owen pulls out inch by inch, only to slam back in seconds later.   
With him setting the pace the only thing you can do is raise your pelvis so to meet his thrust. Moreover you can’t help but claw at his back as he’s merciless in his assault over your body – his lips bruise yours before a path of hickeys and kisses gets spread down your collarbones and chest; the hand that is free from balancing his body over yours grips your hip so vigorously that it borders painful. You enjoy every second of it, every bite, every thrust, every low-muttered curse he pants against your sensitive skin.   
The second of hush between two thrust is charged like a thunderbolt and zaps across your skin, prickling it and making it painful to touch. Another hard and deep thrust, followed by his teeth sinking into your shoulder is all it takes for the world around you to collapse into a bubble of white noise. The sensation of floating is short-lived and blissful in each second of it, and despite being fleeting, leaves you in a state of utter content.   
Looking at Owen, you find him still leaning on his elbows over you, yet the shaking of his shoulders warns of his approaching collapse. Pulling him down so that he can lie over you, for once you allow yourself to enjoy the proximity and intimacy you share as something more than a last bite from the sinful apple. ‘What would have happened if I met him first instead of Deckard?’ the random thought would have left you pondering for the better part of the night if sleep hadn’t swiftly tugged at your brain. The last thing you remember seeing is Owen’s face over your chest and the small smile on his lips.

*`*`*

The traffic is pretty low in the early hours of the day and the taxi reaches the airport in record time, thus making you be slightly more generous in your tip to the driver than usual. The big suitcase rolls after you as you enter the fancy building through the big double doors and it feels like you just crossed a border between two worlds. The inside of the main hall is buzzing like a beehive with life as passengers are rushing left and right, pushing or pulling huge suitcases while simultaneously tugging their children away from the windows of the various twinkling stores.   
Mute and unaffected by all this bubbling activity, you find your way around quick enough to get your luggage checked and measured before it disappears down the moving catwalk. Next is finding your terminal and taking a seat as there’s over forty minutes until you have to board the plane. Only now do you make an effort to assimilate what’s happening with the surrounding world, yet to no result. Faceless people trot around like foals after their curious children while others have buried their faces in either phones or magazines.   
You are respectably numb to the world, and prefer it this way. The tears that flowed down all the way to the airport left you in a state of apathy and indifference. For all you care a cow may dash past you, and you probably won’t take notice.   
In front of your eyes is still Owen’s sleeping face. Leaving the bed in the dark hours of the morning was a real challenge not so much because of the fatigue, but because of the yearning you felt to stay. ‘I have no future there.’ the thought got hammered numerous times into your brain while you washed, changed and left the hideout. ‘I’ll end up dead if I stay.’ was second best if option one was not sufficient in showing you the wrong of your ways.   
Yet now, as you sit and wait for your plane back home, you don’t feel the way you initially anticipated – free and eager to be safe and away from this madness. Instead, a forbearing sensation of pain chokes the air straight out of your lungs, making a sound reminding a muffled wail to slip past your tightly sealed lips. Unable to speak, hear or read, for once in your life you seriously doubt the righteousness of your decision to flee. Yet for each reason you find to stay, there’s one to show you how desperately you must leave, until confusion and inner distress muffle everything down.   
Numbness is something you can cope with; all the emotions that shake your foundations - you cannot. So you silence it all and look out of the window, trying in vain to distract your mind from the memory of last night and Owen’s hands traveling up and down your body. ‘Eve bit into the sinful apple and look where that got her. Why should I be any different?’  
When your flight’s number finally gets called out, you mechanically stand up and walk the general direction everybody is walking, your steps heavy and somewhat forced. Boarding the plane and taking your seat, immediately your eyes get glued to the sky; it’s the clearest blue you have ever seen, without even a dust of cloud to spoil it. Simultaneously it is the complete opposite of your inner state; you feel like a hive of wasps has been tumbled over and now its residence tear at the tissue from inside out, eager to get out. Yet you grit your teeth, rise your chin up stubbornly and glare at the horizon. ‘There’s no going back now!’ The roar of the engine to life proves your point and soon after the huge machine starts moving. And while eventually the solid ground stays behind, so do two very important parts of your heart. Silent tears roll down your cheeks as the images of both Deckard and Owen flash under your closed eyelids like a last reminder of what you could have had, weren’t you such a coward. The hum of the engines resonates within your very soul until the only thing left to wallow over is your poor life choices.


End file.
